ft? 


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THfc 

REPUBLICAN  COMPILE!*, 


COMPRISING    A    SERIES   OF 


SCIENTIFIC, 

DESCRIPTIVE, 
NARRATIVE, 

POPULAR* 


BIOGRAPHICAL^ 
EPISTOLARY, 

AND 
MISCELLANEOUS 


PIECES. 
JJV  PROSE  AND  VERSE. 


SELECTED 


FROM  THE  BEST  AMERICAN  WRITERS, 


AND    DESIGNED 


FOR  TF.S'USE  OF  SCHOOLS. 


BY  A  CITIZEN  OF  PITTSBURGH 

PITTSBURGH: 

PRINTED  BY  CRAMER  &  SPEAK* 

HF.AT),  WOOD  STUEET* 


1818, 


Western  District  of  Pennsylvania,  to  wit: 

*******          BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  That  on  the 

I  L  S  %  ^l  ^ay  °^  ^Ovem^er5  in  the  forty -third 
year  of  the  independence  of  the  United 

«•****«  States  of  America,  A.  D.  18i8,B.R.EvANS, 
of  the  said  District,  has  deposited  in  this  office,  the  title 
of  a  book,  the  right  whereof  he  claims  as  Author,  in  the 
words  following,  to  wit : 

"  The  Republican  Compiler,  comprising  a  series  of 
Scientific,  Descriptive,  Narrative,  Popular,  Biographi- 
cal, Epistolary,  and  Miscellaneous  Pieces.  In  prose  and 
verse.  Selected  from  the  best  American  Writers,  and 
designed  for  the  use  of  Schools.  By  a  Citizen  of  Pitts- 
burgh." 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States,  intituled^,"  An  Act  for  the  Elncouragement  of 
Learning,  by  securing  the  Conies  6>c  Maps,  Charts  and 
Books,  to  the  Authors  and  Proprietors  of  such  Copies,  dur- 
ing the  times  therein  mentioned."  And  also,  to  the  Act, 
entitled,  "  An  Act  supplementary  to  an  Act,  entitled, 
<  An  Act  for  the  Encouragement  of  Learning,  by  secur- 
ing the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts  and  Books,  to  the  Authors 
and  Proprietors  of  such  Copies,  during  the  times  therein 
mentioned.'  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts 
of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching  historical  and  other 
prints." 

D.  S.  WALKER, 

Clerk  of  the  Western  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PREFACE, 


IN  offering  the  following  sheets  to  the  public,  the  Com- 
piler, aware  of  the  little  merit  which  is  awarded  to  those, 
who  employ  the  labours  of  others,  to  acquire  for  them- 
selves the  name  and  reputation  of  authors,  is  content  to 
rely  for  the  success  of  his  attempt,  rather  upon  the  nature 
of  his  intentions,  than  upon  any  pretensions  which  he  can 
urge  to  learning  or  talents. 

Numerous  publications  have  appeared  in  our  country, 
purporting  to  be  American^  while  the  greater  part,  if  not 
the  whole,  of  their  contents,  have  been  gfeaiieci  from  for- 
eign fields.  This  circumstance  may  be,  and  doubtless  is, 
a  matter  of  little  import,  in  the  estimation  of  those,  who 
consider  the  cultivation  of  the  youthful  mind,  as  an  ob- 
ject, the  attainment  of  which,  depends  more  upon  the 
quality  of  the  soil,  than  the  indigenous  nature  of  the  plants 
\vhich  it  is  destined  to  receive.  But,  although  exotic 
productions  may  flourish,  where  even  those  of  native 
growth  would  languish  for  want  of  culture,  yet,  (to  con- 
tinue the  figure,)  it  should  be  considered  as  incumbent  on 
the  botanical  profession,  to  acquire  a  competent  acquain- 
tance with  the  productions  of  their  own  country,  before 
they  have  recourse  to  those  of  foreign  climes. 

From  the  preceding  observations,  it  may  be  inferred, 
that  a  principal  design  of  this  compilation  is  to  bring  into 
more  general  notice,  those  productions  of  native  genius* 
which  are,  by  general  consent,  admitted  to  be  possessed  of 
merit.  This  intention  will  not  beseemed  Quixotic,  v/V'i. 

M 


}*  PREFACE, 

It  is  considered,  tKat  it  is  the  bounden  duty  of  every  ciK-t 
zen,  to  afford  his  aid,  however  small  it  may  be,  not  only 
to  the  political  government  under  which  we  may  live,  but 
to  the  several  departments  of  learning,  which  form  the 
constituent  parts  of  national  greatness. 

Republican  America  possesses  ample  resources  within 
.its  territory?  to  furnish  its  citizens  with  subjects,  calculate 
cd  as  well  for  mental,  as  for-  physical  contemplation  and 
improvement.  It  is  a  libel  upon  the  genius  and  talents 
of  the  American  people,  to  assert,  as  it  has  become  fashion- 
able beyond  the  Atlantic  to  do,  that  human  intellect 
moves  in  a  retrograde  direction  among  them. 

If  it  be  coiisidered  as  an  object  commensurate  with  the 
duty  of  the  patriot,  to  afford  encouragement  and  sup- 
port to  the  physical  powers  of  his  country,  whereby  its  in- 
ternal resources  may  be  brought  into  action,  and  conduce 
ro  the  national  welfare,  it  will  sureTy  not  be  controverted', 
that  the  same  attention  bestowed  upon  the  intellectual  en- 
ergies of  his  native  or  adopted  land,  is  deserving  of  equal 
commendation. 

Impressed  with  a  belief,  that  a  work  of  a  nature  alto-» 
gether  similar  to  the  present  one,  has  hitherto  been  adesid- 
p-mtum  in  the  U.  States,  the  Compiler  may  at  least  claim 
flie  merit  of  originality  in  its  design,  if  not  in  the  matter 
employed  in  its  cjcecntion.  By  a  concentration  of  por- 
tions of  those  writings,  which  have  been  produced  in  the 
new  world,  he  would  indulge  the  hope  of  having,  in  soir.e 
•noasure,  promoted  the  cause  of  literature,  which  has  too 
frequently  been  considered  as  receiving  its  chief,  or  only 
support,  from  the  inhabitants  of  the  other  hemisphere. 
In  the  execution  of  this  design,  he  has  been  careful  to  se- 
lect only  from  such  writers  as  have  acquired  a  name 
among  the  literati  of  their  country;  to  the  extension  of 
whose  well-earned  fame,  ho  is  anxious  to  contribute  his 
mite.  This  expression  of  his  sentiments  may  perhaps  be 
,t  bv  some  to  proceed  from  presumption  and  arro- 
gance :  " "for  how,"  it  may  be  asked,  "  will  the  fame  of  an 
>r,  be  rendered  m?>re  brilliant,  or  acquire  more  per- 
petMif.y,  through  the  medium  of  a  common  school  book  ?" 
is  anticipated  question,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  reply, 
l:at,  however  humble  may  be  the  design  of  this  compila- 
tion, the  materials  employed  in  its  execution  being  deriv- 


FHEFACE,  v 

ed"  from  the  resources  which  have  been  afforded  by  emi- 
nent native  talents,  it  will  probably  acquire  from  this  cir- 
cumstance, some  degree  of  merit,  and  pretension, to  a 
favorable  reception  from  those  who  are  possessed  of  real 
patriotism. 

It  is  too  frequently  the  case,  in  every  country,  that  the 
mental  labours  of  men  are  held  in  esteem  but  a  short  time 
after  they  have  been  presented  to  the  public  eye ;  and 
that,  however  great  may  be  their  merit,  they  soon  become 
the  neglected  inmates  of  t\\Q-escritoir,  to  make  way  for 
more  recent,  though  less  valuable  productions.  This  in- 
attention to,  and  neglect  of  merit,  it  behooves  every 
friend  of  learning  to  discountenance  :  and,  by  throwing 
his  individual  exertions  into  the  general  stock,  contribute 
to  the  formation,  if  not  of  an  original,  at  least  of  a  bor- 
rowed fund,  whence  youthful  adventurers  in  literary  en- 
terprize,  may  expect  to  derive  some  assistance  in  the  pro- 
secution of  their  laudable  attempts.  The  plan  which  is 
now  submitted  to  public  opinion,  it  is  hoped  by  its  design- 
•er,  will  tend  as  much  to  the  attainment  of  this  object,  as 
any  other  of  so  humble  a  character  could  be  supposed  to 
contribute.  The  rising  generation,  having  placed  before 
them,  in  the  course  of  their  elementary  studies,  the  writ- 
ings of  those,  to  whom  their  fathers  willingly  awarded 
the  meed  of  applause,  will  be  induced  to  ingraft  the  re- 
spect and  veneration  due  to  virtue  and  talents,  on  the> 
knowledge  which  they  will  be  gradually  acquiring  in  the 
several  branches  of  learning.  Added  to  this  considera- 
tion, it  may  be  presumed,  that,  as  ther  youthful  mind  is 
naturally  disposed  to  admire  every  thing  which  bears  the 
stamp  of  devotion  to  liberty  and  honour,  the  compend 
that  this  work  affords,  of  incidents  connected  with  the 
early  political,  as  well  as  literary  history  of  their  country, 
\vill  contribute  to  keep  alive  a  spirit  of  virtuous  indigna- 
tion against  tyrannical  oppression,  and  to  excite  feelings 
of  pity  and  admiration,  for  distressed  virtue  and  success- 
ful patriotism. 

Thus,  a  work  which  was  originally  intended  for  the  or- 
dinary use  of  the  young  student,  in  the  incipient  stages  of 
his  education,  may  tend  to  excite  in  him  'an  emulation 
to  equal  the  merits  of  the  sao;es,  patriots,  and  heroes,  to 
whom  his  country  is  so  much  indebted  ;  and  while  he -per- 
uses the  pages,  which  contain  the  memorials  of  their  exer- 


vi  PREFACE. 

ticns  in  the  cause  of  political  and  mental  independence, 
the  remembrance  of  their  worth  and  services  will  be 
stamped  indelibly  on  his  mind. 

After  this  brief  exposition  of  the  motives  to  which  the 
ensuing  pages  owe  their  origin,  it  might,  perhaps,  be  coir- 
sistent  with  prudence,  to  leave  them  to  the  judgement  of 
the  public,  without  any  further  prefatory  observations, 
It  may,  however,  be  considered  a  matter  of  formality,  if 
not  of  necessity,  to  state  cursorily  the  outlines  of  the  plan 
which  has  been  pin  sued,  with  regard  to  the  selection  and 
arrangement  of  the  different  subjects  included  in  the 
work.  In  the  choice  of  the  subjects,  a  departure  from 
the  system  generally  adopted  by  compilers,  has  been 
ventured  upon  5  and  it  rests  with  popular  opinion,  (to 
which  tribunal  the  reapers,  as  well  as  gleaners,  of  the 
literary  harvest  must  consider  themselves  amenable)  to 
decide  w-hether  the  innovation  is  justified  by  its  probable 
beneficial  effects. 

Biographical  notices  of  men,  eminent  for  their  learning, 
virtue,  or  patriotism,,  it  is  to  be  presumed  will  add  some- 
what to  the  merits  of  a  book,  which  is  solely  intended  for 
the  use  of  young  students.  The  introduction  of  this  spe- 
cies of  writing,  may  not  only  tend  to  perpetuate  the 
names  of  those,  to  whom  America  ascribes  her  existence 
in  the  list  of  independent  and  enlightened  nations,  but  it 
may  incite  the  inquisitive  and  ingenuous  youth,  to  imi- 
tate, as  well  as  to  admire,  their  actions.  The  same  re- 
sults may  be  anticipated  from  the  introduction  of  episto- 
lary matter ;  and  circumstances, in  themselves  important, 
and  deriving  additional  interest  from  the  periods  in  which 
they  transpired,  may  be  preserved  from  the  oblivion  to 
which  they  would  be  exposed,  were  they  to  rely  for  trans- 
mission to  posterity,  on  the  transitory  nature  of  epistola- 
ry communication. 

In  the  arrangement,  as  well  as  selection,  of  the  several 
subjects,  due  regard  has  been  paid,  both  to  the  conveni- 
ence and  improvement  of  the  reader.  The  order  in 
which  the  various  topics  appear,  will,  it  is  expected,  lead 
to  beneficial  effects,  by  strengthening  the  tender  mind  of 
the  scholar,  and  gradually  rendering  it  capable  of  under- 
o-oing  the  fatigue  incident  to  the  more  advanced  essays  of 
mental  power.  While  this  consequence  is  resulting  from 


PREFACE.  vii 

an  application  to  the  useful  and  necessary  subjects,  which 
are  presented  to  his  attention,  in  the  introductory  part  of 
this  volume,  the  relaxation  which  is  sought  from  dull  and 
monotonous  occupations,  will  be  afforded,  by  the  lighter 
and  more  attractive  objects,  which  the  design  of  a  miscel- 
lany left  room  to  introduce. 

In  the  poetical  department,  the  materials  to  which  re- 
course has  been  had,  are  necessarily  limited.  The  Amer- 
ican muse  has  not  yet  furnished  the  admirers  of  the  more 
sublime  flights  of  imagination,  with  many  opportunities 
of  indulging  their  tastes.  From  the  few  whom  she  HAS 
led  to  the  elevated  and  flowery  regions  of  Parnassus,  a 
selection  has  been  made,  embracing  as  large  a  range  as  the 
paucity  of  materials  would  admit;  and  no  little  pains 
have  been  taken,  to  render  the  introduction  of  the  bardrs 
labours,  as  consistent  with  the  nature  of  the  present  work, 
both  with  regard  to  usefuj  instruction,  and  pleasing  recre- 
ation, as  the  art  of  poesy  will  permit. 

Little  further,  of  an  introductory  nature,  would  appear 
to  be  necessary.  It  may,  therefore,  suffice  to  observe, 
that,  if  the  Compiler  cannot  c<>mmand  the  approbation  of 
those  to  whom  his  book  is  submitted,  he  has  at  least  assid- 
uously endeavored  to  deserve  it  To  the  candid  and  lib- 
eral part  of  the  community,  this  will  be  sufficient*- to 
those  of  a  different  character,  no  appeal  is  made. 


INDEX. 


SCIENTIFIC. 


ELOQUENCE,  objections  against  considered  13 

observations  on  American        * 

Oratory,  of 

Writing,  simplicity  ia        -        -        .."<. 

DESCRIPTIVE. 

Walls,  singular  natural  ones  on  the  banks  of  the  Missouri  41 

Cascade,  description  of  one  cr,  the  river  Missouri        -  43 

Shoshonet :  Indians,  manners  and  customs  of        -  4.5 

Missouri  river,  description  of  47 
Canoes,  description  of  those  used  by  the  Indians  on  the  Columbia 

river            ---.*..-.--  49 

CUili,  singular  customs  of  the  inhabitants  of        ...        -  50 
Tortoises,  description  of  those  found  on  th?  islands  of  the  Pacific 

ocean 52 

Niagara,  falls  of - 

Cave,  description  of  one  near  Carlisle,  Pa.          -  54 

AVat.tr  Gup,  Lf-'high,  description  of             .....  07 
Nooaheeva,  Island  of,  description  of  a  place  of  religious  ceremony 

in                58 

Mounds,  remarkable,  near  Cahokia 60 

Warlike  weapons,  description  of  those  used  by  the  natives  of  the 

island  of  Nooaheeva            f?J 

NARRATIVE. 

Alligators,  extraordinary  ferocity  of           ,.        .        *        *         *  03 

II  'ttlesns-ke,  generous  disposition  of            .....  65 

Hrandy\yine,  battle  of        --------  65 

Shoshonee  Indians,  ravenous  appetites  of             ....  70 

L<'\visCapt.  providentiril  escape  of                                            -  71 

Osage  Indians,  curious  traditionary  account  of           ...  74 

Irish  sailor,  account  of  an             --.«...  75 

Allegheny,  prophet  of  the          .......  7t> 

Hospitality,  Tydiari              -        -                          --       *.       *        -^  81 


A  INDEX. 

U.  States  troops,  sufferings  of  a  party  of            ^  84 

Montgomery  Gen  death  of 85 

Corn  wall  is  Lord,  Surrender  of            ......  87 

French  massacres  of,  by  the  Indians                   .        .        .        .  89 

Indians  massacre  by,  and  retaliation  by  the  whites  91 
American  troops,  distressing  situation  of  a  party  of,  in  the  campaign 

of  1775                 93 

American  officer,  ingenious  stratagem  of  an        ....  94 

Welsh  nation,  proof  of  one  existing  in  America        ...  95 

Henry  Patrick,  account  of  his  first  speech            ...»  96 

POPULAR. 

Independence,  declaration  of             -        -        -        -        -        -  101 

Washington  George,  the  illustrious,  eulogy  on           ...  105- 

Marshall  Mr.  speech  of,  on  the  death  ot  General  Washington  115 
Oration,  extract  from  an,  delivered  at  Worcester,  Mass  Juis-   4, 

1796 116 

Washington  General,  farewell  address  of            -        -        -        -  U9 

Rutledge  Governor,  extract  from  a  speech  of  ... 

Ames  Mr  speech  of,  on  the  British  Treaty        - 

Noland  Mr  speech  on  the  bill  to  suppress  duelling 

Franklin  Dr.  final  speech  of,  in  the  federal  convention                •  130 

Henry  Patrick,  speech  of          -.„-•--  132 

BIOGRAPHICAL* 


Dr  "Benjamin  Franklin,  life  of 

Nathaniel  Greene,  Gen.     

Alexander  Hamilton,  Gen.— --— 

IVnn  William,  ^    - 

St  Gl«ir  Artluir  Major-general,  life  of 
Ilittenhotise  David,  L.  L.  B    F.  II    S.  life  of 

Uutledge  John,  life    of 

Lewis  Meriwether,  capt    — 
Marion  Francis,  general    — - 


EPISTOLARY. 

Washington  Gen.  letter  of,  on  accepting  the  command  of  the  A. 

Army,  in  1798. 

British  Spy,  letter  from 

Franklin  Dr.  letter  to  John  Alleyne,  Esq. 
-  to  Dr  Mather 


—  to  Noah  Webster,  Es q. 


GreenedGeneral,  letter  from  to  the  President  of  Congress 

. - . to  Gen.  Gates 

•  to  Lord  Cornwallis 


—  to  G<  n.  Washington 


St.  Glair  \rthur  Major-general,  letter  from  to  the  Hon.  John  Jay 
Washington  General,  letter  from  to  Major  Lee 
Franklin  Dr.  humorous  letter  from  tc  a  young  lady 


INDEX,  x\ 
MISCELLANEOUS. 

^Petit  Maitres,  a  mirror  for  the         -        •        -        -        -        •  19;» 
Money,  way  to  make  it  plenty           ....         - 

Olive  Obediah,  complaint  of 

Affectation,  beauty  destroyed  by        ------  202 

Gossipping,  a  dialogue  from  life          ......  204 

Wit,  false         - 207 

Conscience,  power  of--------  208 

MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

Heroes  American 

Laughing,  eulogy  on  .... 

Congress,  first  American            .......  214 

Trenck  Baron,  to  the  memory  of 

Cato,  tragedy  of,  epilogue  to  the        ......  218 

Prospects  gloomy,  of  1776 220 

Nature,  the  force  of -        -  221 

Star  light,  an  elegy  

Paper  a  poem            ...-.-...  223 

Music,  po'wer  of--------  225 

Music  Sacred,  at  midnight 226 

Maniac  the 227 

Understanding  human,  powers  of  the        ....  228 

Distrest  Orator,  lines  on  a 230 

Fable— The  Eagle  and  the  Cat 231 

Beauty,  true 232 

Caraccas,  destruction  of  by  an  Earthquake          ...  233 

Theatre  Richmond,  burning  of  the             ....  234 

Year,  the  grave  of  the -  236 

Night,  ode  to              - 238 

Sea  Nymph,  the                239 

Infant,  on  the  death  of  an           ......  241 

Banner,  the  star  spangled          ......  ibid 

Misery  vs.  Glory        .........  242 

Chrystalina    A  fahy  tale           .......  243 

Lines  addressed  to  a  deaf  and  dumb  girl             ....  245 

Wilderness  the          -        - 246 

Winter              247 

Field  of  Raisin— night  view  of  the               ....  248 

Congaree  Creek,  a  sand  hill  scene  at  the  head  of  the           -  251 

Village  Greatness              257 

New  Year— Ode  for  the— 1817 258 

Death  of  a  lady,  on  the             .•».-..„  261 

Reflection  a               262 

Thy  will  be  done                              - 263 


OBJECTIONS 

AGAINST  ELOaUENCE 


CONSIDERED. 


THESE  objections  are  three.  First,  mat  rhetoric  is 
a  pedantic  science,  overcharged  \vith  scholastic  subtle- 
ties, and  innumerable  divisions  and  subdivisions,  burden- 
some to  the  memory,  oppressive  to  genius,  and  never  ap- 
plicable to  any  valuable  purpose  in  the  business  of  the 
world.  'Second,  that  it  is  a  frivolous  science,  substituting 
childish  declamation  instead  of  manly  sense,  and  adapt- 
ed rather  to  the  pageantry  of  a  public  festival,  than  to 
the  sober  concerns  of  real  life.  And  third,  that  it  is  a 
pernicious  science;  the  purpose  of  which  is  to  mislead 
the  judgment  by  fascinating  the  imagination.  That  its 
tendencies  are  to  subject  the  reason  of  men  to  the  con- 
trol of  their  passions;  to  pervert  private  justice,  and  to 
destroy  public  liberty.  These  are  formidable  objections, 
and  unless  a  sound  and  satisfactory  answer  can  be  given 
to  them  all,  both  your  time  and  mine,  my  friends,  is  at 
this  moment  very  ill  employed,  and  the  call  I  am  obliged 
to  make  upon  your  attention,  is  a  trespass  upon  some- 
thing more  than  your  patience. 

Let  me  first  remark,  that  the  last  of  these  difficulties 
is  not  barely  at  variance  with,  but  in  direct  hostility  to 
the  other  two.  If  rhetoric  be  a  pedantic  science,  con 
sisting  of  nothing  but  a  tedious  and  affected  enumera- 
tion of  the  figures  of  speech,  or  if  it  be  a  frivolous  sci- 
ence, teaching  only  the  process  of  beating  up  a  frothy 
declamation  inttf  seeming  consistency,  at  least  it 
B 


14  OI>J ACTIONS  AGAINST 

be  that  deadly  \vQajjon5'the  possession  of  which  is  so  per- 
•;at  'the*,  atfection  of  a  parent,  studious  of  the 
leariiiiig  and  virtue  of  his  son,  dares  not  entrust  it  to  his 
hand.  If  rhetoric  be  no  more  than  the  Babylonish  dia- 
lect of  the  schools,  if  oratory  be  no  more  than  the  sound- 
ing emptiness  of  the  scholar,  they  are  at  least  not  those 
dangerous  and  destructive  engines,  which  pollute  the 
fountains  of  justice,  and  batter  down  the  liberties  of  na- 
tions. These  objections  are  still  more  at  strife  with  each 
other,  than  with  the  science,  against  which  they  are  point* 
ed.  Were  they  urged  by  one  and  the  same  disputant,  we 
might  be  content  to  array  them  against  each  other.  We 
might  oppose  the  argument  of  insignificance  against  the 
argument  of  danger;  and  enjoy  the  triumph  of  behold- 
ing our  adversary  refute  himself.  But  inasmuch  as  they 
spring  from  different  sources,  they  are  entitled  to  a  dis- 
tinct consideration.  From  their  mutual  opposition,  the 
only  conclusive  inference  we  can  draw  against  them  is, 
.hat  they  cannot  all  be  well  founded.  Let  us  endeavour 
co  prove  the  same  against  each  of  them  separately,  be- 
ginning with  those,  which  affect  only  the  usefulness,  and 
not  the  moral  character  of  our  profession. 

The  first  assault  then,  which  we  are  called  upon  to  re- 
pel, comes  from  the  shaft  of  wit;  always  a  formidable, 
but  not  always  a  iair  antagonist.  A  poet  of  real  genius 
and  original  humor,  in  a  couplet,  which  goes  farther  to 
discredit  all  systems  of  rhetoric,  than  volumes  of  sober 
argument  can  effect  in  promoting  them,  has  told  the 
world  that 

AH  a  rhetorician's  rules 

Teach  nothing  but  to  name  his  tools. 

But  happily  the  doctrine,  that  ridicule  is  the  test  of 
truth,  has  never  obtained  the  assent  of  the  rational  part  of 
•nankind.  Wit,  like  the  ancient  Parthian,  flies  while  it 
fights;  or  like  the  modern  Indian,  shoots  from  behind 
trees  and  hedges.  The  arrow  comes  winged  from  an  in- 
visible hand.  It  rankles  in  your  side,  and  you  look  in 
vain  for  the  archer.  Wit  is' the  unjust  jud^e,  who  often 
decides  wrong;  and  even  when  right,  often  from  a  wrong 
motive.  From  his  decisions  however,  after  paying  the 
forfeit,  there  is  always  an  appeal  to  the  more  even  bal- 
ance of  common  sense.  On  this  review  we  shall  find  the 


ELOQUENCE  CONSIDERED. 

poet's  position  not  exactly  conformable  to  truth;  and. 
even  so  far  as  true,  by  no  means  decisive  against  the 
study  of  tile  science.  *For  what  can  be  more  necessary 
to  the  artist,  than  to  know  the  names,  as  well  as  the  uses 
of  his  tools  ?  Rhetoric  alone  can  never  constitute  an 
orator.  No  human  art  can  be  acquired  by  the  mere 
knowledge  of  the  principles,  upon  which  it  is  founded. 
But  the  artist,  who  understands  its  principles,  will  exer- 
cise his  art  in  the  highest  perfection.  The  profoundest 
study  of  the  writers  upon  architecture,  the  most  labori- 
ous contemplation  of  its  magnificent  monuments  will  no 
ver  make  a  mason.  But  the  mason,  thoroughly  acquaint- 
ed with  the  writers,  and  familiar  with  the  construction  of 
those  monuments,  will  surely  be  an  abler  artist,  than  the 
mere  mechanic,  ignorant  ot  the  mysteries  of  his  trade, 
and  even  of  the  names  of  his  tools.  A  celebrated  French 
comic  writer,  Moliere,  has  represented  one  of  his  charac- 
ters, learning  with  great  astonishment  and  self- admira- 
tion, at  the  age  of  forty,  that  he  had  been  all  his  life  time- 
speaking  prose  without  knowing  it.  And  this  bright  dis- 
covery comes  from  the  information  he  then  first  receives 
from  his  teacher  of  grammar,  that  whatsoever  is  not  prose 
is  verse,  and  whatsoever  is  not  verse  is  prose. 

But  the  names  of  the  rhetorician's  rules  are  not  the 
only  objects  of  his  precepts.  They  are  not  even  essen- 
tial to  the  science.  Figurative  and  ornamented  language 
indeed  is  one  of  the  important  properties  of  oratory,  and 
when  the  art  came  to  be  reduced  into  a  system  among 
the  ancient  Greeks,  some  of  the  subordinate  writers,  un- 
able to  produce  any  thing  of  their  own  upon  the  gener- 
al subject,  exercised  their  subtlety  to  discriminate,  and 
their  ingenuity  to  name  the  innumerable  variety  of  forms, 
in  which  language  may  be  diverted  from  the  direct  into 
the  figurative  channel.  Pursuing  this  object  with  more 
penetration  than  discernment,  they  ransacked  all  their 
celebrated  authors  for  figures  of  speech,  to  give  them 
names  ;  and  often  finding  in  their  search  some  incorrect 
expression,  which  the  inattention  of  the  writer  had  over- 
looked, they  concluded  it  was  a  figure  of  speech,  because 
it  was  not  conformable  to  grammatical  construction;  and 
very  gravely  turning  a  blunder  into  a  trope,  invested  it 
with  the  dignity  of  a  learned  name.  A  succession  of 
tht*se  rhetorical  nomenclators  were  continually  improv- 
ing upon,  one  am>ther,  until  the  catalogue  of  figures  grew 


t*  OBJECTIONS  AGAINST 

io  a  lexicon,  and  the  natural  shape  of  rhetoric  was  dis- 
tended to  a  dropsy. 

This  excessive  importance,  given  to  one  of  the  branch- 
es  of  the  science,  led  to  the  absurd  notion,  that  all  rhet- 
oric was  comprised  in  the  denomination  of  figurative  ex- 
pressions, and  finally  provoked  the  lash  of  Butler's  ridi- 
cule. But  he  must  have  a  partial  and  contracted  idea 
indeed  of  rhetoric,  who  can  believe,  that  by  the  art  of 
persuasion  is  meant  no  more  than  the  art  of  distinguish- 
ing between  a  metonymy  and  a  metaphor,  or  of  settling 
•  he  boundary  between  synecdoche  and  antonomasia.  So 
far  is  this  from  being  true,  that  Aristotle,  the  great  father 
of  the  science,  though  he  treats  in  general  terms  of  met- 
aphorical language,  bestows  very  little  consideration  up- 
on it,  and  cautions  the  orator,"  perhaps  too  rigorously, 
against  its  use.  Cicero,  though  from  the  natural  turn  of 
.vis  genius  more  liberal  of  these  seductive  graces,  allows 
them  only  a  very  moderate  station  in  his  estimate  of  the 
art;  and  Quinctilian  appropriates  to  them  only  part  of 
two,  out  of  his  twelve  books  of  institutes. 

The  idea,  that  the  purpose  of  rhetoric  is  only  to  teach 
the  art  of  making  and  delivering  a  holiday  declamation, 
proceeds  from  a  view  of  the  subject  equally  erroneous 
and  superficial.  Were  this  its  only  or  even  its  principal 
object,  its  acquisition  might  rationally  occupy  a  few  mo- 
ments of  your  leisure,  but  could  not  claim  that  assiduous 
study  and  persevering  application,  without  which  no  man 
will  ever  be  an  orator.  It  would  stand  in  the  rank  of 
elegant  accomplishments,  but  could  not  aspire  to  that  of 
useful  talents.  Perhaps  one  of  the  causes  of  this  mis- 
taken estimate  of  the  art  is  the  usual  process,  by  which 
it  is  learnt.  The  exercises  of  the  student  are  necessa- 
rilv  confined  to  this  lowest  department  of  the  science. 
Your  weekly  declamations,  your  occasional  themes,  anil 
forensic  disputes,  and  the  dialogues,  conferences  and  ora- 
tions of  the  public  exhibitions,  from  the  nature  of  things, 
must  relate  merely  to  speculative  subjects.  Here  is  no 
issue  for  trial,  in  which  the  life  or  fortune  of  an  individ- 
ual may  be  involved.  Here  is  no  vote  to  be  taken,  upon 
which  the  destinies  of  a  nation  may  be  suspended.  Here 
is  no  immortal  soul,  whose  future,  blessedness  or  misery 
may  hinge  upon  your  powers  of  eloquence  to  carry  con- 
viction to  the  heart.  But  here  it  is,  that  you  must  pre- 
pare yourselves  to  act  your  part  in  those  great  realities  oi 


ELOQUENCE  CONSIDERED,  17 

life.  To  consider  the  lessons  or  the  practices,  by  which 
the  art  of  oratory  can  be  learnt,  as  the  substance  of  the 
art  itself,  is  to  mistake  the  means  for  the  end.  It  is  to 
measure  the  military  merits  of  a  general  by  the  gold 
threads  of  his  epaulette,  or  to  appreciate  the  valor  of  the 
soldier  by  the  burning  of  powder  upon  a  parade.  The 
eloquence  of  the  college  is  like  the  discipline  of  are- 
view.  The  art  of  war,  we  are  all  sensible,  does  not  con- 
sist in  the  manoeuvres  of  a  training  day;  nor  the  sted- 
uistness  of  the  soldier  at  the  hour  of  battle,  in  the  drill- 
ing of  his  orderly  sergeant.  Yet  the  superior  excellence 
of  the  veteran  army  is  exemplified  in  nothing  more  for- 
cibly, than  in  the  perfection  of  its  discipline.  It  is  in  the 
heat  of  the  action,  upon  the  field  of  blood,  that  the  for- 
tune of  the  day  may  be  decided  by  the  exactness  of  the 
manual  exercise;  and  the  art  of  displaying  a  column,  or 
directing  a  charge,  may  turn  the  balance  of  victory  and 
change  the  history  of  the  world.  The  application  of 
these  observat  ons  is  as  direct  to  the  art  of  oratary,  as  to 
I'M  at  of  war.  The  exercises,  to  which  you  are  here  accus- 
tomed, are  not  intended  merely  for  the  display  of  the 
talents  you  have  acquired.  They  are  instruments,  put 
into  your  hands  for  future  use.  Their  object  is  not  bare- 
ly to  prepare  you  for  the  composition  and  delivery  oi  an 
oration  to  amuse  an  idle  hour  on  some  public  anniversa- 
ry. It  is  to  give  you  a  clue  for  the  labyrinth  of  legisla- 
tion in  the  public  councils  ;  a  spear  for  the  conflict  of  ju- 
dicial war  in  the  public  tribunals:  a  sword  for  the  field 
of  religious  and  moral  victory  in  the  pulpit. 

In  the  endeavour  to  refute  these  pretty  cavils  against 
rhetoric,  which  have  no  higher  foundation,  than  a  super- 
ficial misconception  of  its  real  character  and  object,  I 
have  perhaps  consumed  too  much  of  your  time.  A  more 
serious  obstacle  remains  to  be  removed.  An  obstacle, 
arising,  not  from  a  mistaken  estimate  of  its  value,  but 
from  too  keen  a  sense  of  its  abuses.  An  objection,  which 
admits,  nay,  exaggerates,  the  immensity  of  its  powers, 
but  harps  upon  their  perversion  to  evil  ends;  which  be- 
holds in  oratory,  not  the  sovereign,  but  the  usurper  of 
the  soul;  which,  far  from  exposing  the  science  to  the  sneer 
of  contempt,  aims  at  inflaming  against  it  the  rancour  of 
jealousy. 

Eloquence,  we  are  told  by  these  eloquent  detractors, 
L<  the  purveyor  of  fraud,  and  the  pander  of  delusion, 
B  £ 


1-8  OBJECTIONS  AGAINST 

Her  tongue  drops  manna,  but  to  make  the  worse  appear 
the  better  reason;  to  perplex  and  dasli  matures!  coun- 
sels. She  fills  the  trump  of  glory  with  the  venal  blast  of  3 
adulation,  and  binds  the  wreath  of  honor  around  the 
brows  of  infamy.  Her  voice  is  ever  ready  to  rescue  the 
culprit  from  punishment,  and  to  ti.vn  the  bolt  of  public 
vengeance  upon  innocence.  Upon  every  breeze  her 
breath  wings  the  pestilence  of  sedition,  or  kindles  the 
flames  of  unextinguishable  war.  Her  most  splendid  vie 
tories  are  but  triumphs  over  reason,  and  the  basis  of  her 
temple  is  erected  upon  the  ruins  of  truth. 

To  this  tempest  of  inculpation  what  reply  can  we  op 
pose  ?  If  we  dispute  the  correctness  of  the  assertions. 
our  adversaries  appeal  with  confidence  to  the  testimony 
of  historical  fact.  If  we  assure  them  upon  the  word  of 
Cicero  and  Quinctilian,  that  none  but  a  good  man  can 
possibly  be  an  orator,  they  disconcert  us  by  calling  for 
our  examples  of  orators,  who  have  been  good  men. 

Let  us  then  tell  them,  that  their  objection  in  this  in^ 
stance*  is  rather  against  the  constitution  of  human  na- 
ture, the  dispensations  of  Providence,  and  the  moral  gov- 
ernment of  the  universe,  than  against  rhetoric  and  ora- 
tory. It  applies  with  equal  force  against  every  faculty, 
which  exalts  the  human  character,  virtue  alone  excepteth 
Strength  of  body,  vigor  of  mind,  beauty,  valor,  genius, 
whatever  we  admire  and  love  in  the  character  of  man  5 
how  often  are  they  perverted  to  his  shame  and  corrup- 
tion !  It  applies  with  equal  force  against  the  laws  of 
physical  nature.  Observe  the  phenomena  of  the  uni- 
verse, in  which  we  dwell.  The  very  beams  of  that  glori- 
ous sun,  the  source  of  genial  heat,  of  heavenly  light,  of 
vegetable  growth,  and  of  animal  life,  how  often  does 
their  radiance  blind  the  eyes,  and  their  fervor  parch  the 
plaius!  How  often  do  they^shed  pernicious  plagues, 
and  kindle  consuming  fires !  The  very  atmosphere  we 
breathe,  unless  perpetually  purified  by  the  accession  ot 
oxygen,  is  it  not  the  most  deadly  poison  ?  Virtue,  my 
young  friends,  is  the  oxygen,  the  vital  air  of  the  moral 
world.  Immutable  and  incorruptible  itself,  like  that 
being,  of  whom  it  is  the  purest  emanation,  in  proportion 
9tS  it  intermingles  with.and  pervades  every  other  particle 
of  intellectual  nature,  it  inspires  the  salutiferous  gale, 
the  principle  of  life,  and  health,  and  happiness.  But 
this  is  tke  peculiar  privilege  of  virtue.  Like  all  the  other 


ELOQUENCE  CONSIDEKED, 

gifts  of  Providence,  eloquence  is,  according  to  the  man- 
ner, in  which  it  is  applied,  a  blessing  or  a  curse ;  the 
of  nations,  or  the  benefactress  of  human  kind. 

Here  then  we  might  rest  our  defence.  We  might  rely  on 
the  trite  and  undisputed  maxim,  that  arguments,  drawn 
from  the  abuse  of  any  thing,  are  not  admissible  against 
its  use.  But  we  must  proceed  one  step  further,  and  say, 
that  in  this  case  the  argument  from  the  abuse  is  conclu- 
sive in  favor  of  the  use.  Since  eloquence  is  in  itself  so 
powerful  a  weapon,  and  since  by  the  depravity  of  man- 
kind this  weapon  must,  and  often  will  be  brandished  for 
guilty  purposes,  its  exercise,  with  equal  or  superior  skill. 
Becomes  but  the  more  indispensable  to  the  cause  of  vir- 
tue. To  forbid  the  sincere  Christian,  the  honest  advo- 
cate, the  genuine  patriot,  the  practice  of  oratorical  arts, 
would  be  like  a  modern  nation,  which  should  deny  to 
itself  the  use  of  gunpowder,  and  march,  with  nothing, 
but  bows  and  arrows,  to  meet  t!/e  thunder  of  an  invad- 
er's artillery.  If  the  venal  orators  of  Athens  would 
have  sold  their  country  to  the  crafty  tyrant  of  Macedon, 
what  could  baffle  their  detested  bargains',  but  the  incor- 
ruptible eloquence  of  Demosthenes?  If  the  incestu- 
ous Clodious  and  the  incendtary  Cataline  had  eloquence 
enough  for  the  destruction  of  imperial  Rome,  what  but 
the  immortal  voice  of  Cicero  could  have  operated  her 
salvation?  Or  to  bring  the  issue  closer  home  to  your 
own  hearts,  when  would  you  so  anxiously  desire  and  so 
eagerly  hail  this  irresistable  power  of  words,  as  at  the  very 
moment  after  hearing  it  perverted  by  cruelty,  hypocrisy, 
or  infidelity,  for  the  purposes  of  violence  or  of  fraud  ? 

In  these  objections  then,  the  most  plausible  of  those, 
-which  ever  have  been  advanced  against  rhetoric,  and  or- 
atory, there  is  nothing  which  ought  to  deter  an  honest 
and  generous  mind  from  their  assiduous  cultivation.  Of 
the  arguments  I  have  urged  to  convince  you,  that  the 
<?tiuly  is  at  once  useful  and  honorable,  your  own  minds 
will  judge.  You  will  perhaps  think,  that  I  have  dwelt 
witii  mqre  earnestness,  than  the  occasion  required,  upon 
topics,  concerning  which  your  hearts  were  already  with 
me.  That  1  have  been  over  anxious  in  demonstrating 
what  was  to  you  before  sufficiently  proved.  That  under 
the  blaze  of  a  meridian  sun,  I  have  been  sweating  with 
the  toil  of  making  daylight  visible  to  your  eyes.  And  is 
it  truly  so  ?  Are  you  convinced  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the 


20  OBJECTIONS  AGAINST 

powers' of  eloquence  are  a  wise,  an  honorable,  a  virtuous 
pursuit?  A  pursuit,  to  \vliich  justice,  patriotism  and  pi- 
ety, with  equal  energy  stimulate  your  souls  ?  Then  go 
with  me  but  one  step  further;  draw  with  me  the  only 
valuable  inference,  which  can  result  from  this  long  dis"- 
sertation;  the  practical  inference,  which  alone  can  make 
it  of  any  use  to  you.  Invert  the  advice  of  Timotheus  to 
Alexander,  and  say  to  yourselves, 

]f  the  world  be  worth  enjoying, 

Think  !    Oh  !    think  it  worth  "thy  winning. 

I  will  conclude  with  urging  upon  your  reflections  the 
iast  great  consideration,  which  1  mentioned,  as  giving  its 
keenest  edge  to  the  argument  for  devoting  every  faculty 
of  the  mind  to  the  acquisition  of  eloquence;  a  consider- 
ation, arising  from  the  peculiar  situation  and  circumstan- 
ces of  our  own  country,  and  naturally  connecting  my 
present  subject,  the  vindication  of  the  science,  with  that, 
which  will  next  claim  your  attention;  I  mean  its  origin 
and  history. 

Should  a  philosophical  theorist,  reasoning  a  priori,  un- 
dertake to  point  out  the  state  of  things,  and  of  human 
society,  which  must  naturally  produce  the  highest  exer- 
tions of  the  power  of  speech,  he  would  recur  to  those 
important  particulars,  which  actually  existed  in  the  Gre- 
cian commonwealths.  The  most  strenuous  energies  of 
the  human  mind,  would  he  say,  are  always  employed, 
where  they  are  instigated  by  the  stimulus  of  the  highest 
rewards.  The  art  of  speaking  must  be  most  eagerly 
sought,  where  it  is  found  to  be  most  useful.  It  must  be 
most  useful,  where  it  is  capable  of  producing  the  great- 
est effects ;  and  that  can  be  in  no  other  state  of  tilings, 
than  where  the  power  of  persuasion  operates  upon  the 
will,  and  prompts  the  actions  of  other  men.  The  only 
birth  place  of  eloquence  therefore  must  be  a  free  state. 
Under  arbitrary  governments,  where  the  lot  is  east  upon 
one  man  to  command,  and  upon  all  the  rest  to  obey; 
where  the  despot,  like  the  Roman  centurion,  has  only  to 
say  to  one  man.  go,  and  he  goeth,  and  to  another,  come, 
and  he  cometh:  persuasion  is  of  no  avail.  Between  au- 
thority and  obedience  there  can  be  no  deliberation  ;  and 
wheresoever  submission  is  the  principle  of  government 
in  a  nation,  eloquence  can  never  arise.  Eloquence  is 


ELOQUENCE  CONSIDERED.  ,2 

the  child  of  liberty,  and  can  descend  from  no  other  stock, 
And  where  will  she  find  her  most  instructive  school  ? 
Will  it  not  be  in  a  country,  where  the  same  spirit  of  lib- 
erty, which  marks  the  relations  between  the  individuals 
of  the  same  community,  is  diffused  over  those  more  com- 
plicated and  important  relations  between  different  com- 
munities ?  where  the  independence  of  man  is  corroborat- 
ed and  invigorated  by  the  independence  of  the  state  r 
Where  the  same  power  of  persuasion,  which  influences 
the  will  of  the  citizens  at  home,  has  the  means  of  operat- 
ing upon  the  will  and  the  conduct  of  sovereign  societies  ? 
Should  it  happen  then,  that  a  number  of  independent 
communities,  founded  upon  the  principles  of  civil  and 
political  liberty,  were  so  reciprocally  situated,  as  to  have 
u  great  and  continual  intercourse  with  each  other,  and 
many  momentous  common  interests,  occasional  as  well 
as  permanent,  there,  above  all  others,  will  be  the  spot, 
where  eloquence  will  spring  to  light;  will  flourish;  will 
rise  to  the  highest  perfection,  of  which  human  art  or  sci- 
ence is  susceptible. 

The  experience  of  mankind  has  proved  exactly  con- 
formable to  this  theory.  The  Grecian  commonwealths 
furnish  the  earliest  examples  in  history  of  confederated 
states  with  free  governments ;  and  there  also  the  art  of 
oratory  was  first  practised,  the  science  of  rhetoric  first 
invented ;  and  both  were  raised  to  a  pitch  of  unrivalled 
excellence  and  glory. 

From  this  powerful  concurrence  of  philosophical  specu- 
lation with  historical  proof,  there  are  several  important 
inferences,  which  ought  to  be  pressed  with  peculiar 
energy  upon  the  consideration  of  all  youthful  Americans ; 
and  more  especially  of  those,  who  are  distinguished  by 
the  liberal  discipline  of  a  classical  education,  and  enjoy 
the  advantages  of  intellectual  cultivation.  They  cannot 
fail  to  remark,  that  their  own  nation  is  at  this  time  pre- 
cisely linden  the  same  circumstances,  which  were  so  pro- 
pitious to  the  advancement  of  rhetoric  and  oratory  among 
the  Greeks.  Like  them,  we  are  divided  into  a  number 
of  separate  commonwealths,  all  founded  upon  the  princi- 
ples of  the  most  enlarged  social  and  civil  liberty.  Like 
them,  we  are  united  in  certain  great  national  interests, 
and  connected  by  a  confederation,  differing  indeed  in 
many  essential  particulars  from  theirs,  but  perhaps  in  a 
still  higher  degree  favorable  to  the  influence  and  exertioij 


22  OBJECTIONS  AGAINST,  &c. 

oi*  eloquence.  Our  institutions,  from  the  smallest  muni- 
cipal associations  to  the  great  national  bond,  which  links 
this  continent  in  union,  are  republican.  Their  vital  prin- 
ciple is  liberty.  Persuasion,  or  the  influence  of  reason 
and  of  feeling,  is  the  great,  if  not  the  only  instrument, 
\vhoseoperationcan  affect  the  acts  of  all  our  corporate 
bodies ;  of  towns,  cities,  counties,  states,  and  of  the  whole 
confederated  empire.  Here  then  eloquence  is  recom- 
mended by  the  most  elevated  usefulness,  and  encouraged 
by  the  promise  of  the  most  precious  rewards. 

Finally,  let  us  observe  how  much  it  tends  to  exalt  and 
ennoble  our  ideas  of  this  art,  to  find  it  both  in  speculation 
and  experience,  thus  grappled,  as  with  hooks  of  steel,  to 
the  soul  of  liberty.  So  dear,  and  so  justly  dear  to  us  are 
the  blessings  of  freedom,  that  if  no  other  advantage  could 
be  ascribed  to  the  powers  of  speech,  than  that  they  are 
her  inseparable  companions,  that  alone  would  be  an 'un- 
answerable argument  for  us  to  cherish  them  with  more 
than  a  mother's  affection.  Let  then  the  frosty  rigor  of  the 
logician  tell  you,  that  eloquence  is  an  insidious  appeal  to 
the  passions  of  men.  Let  the  ghastly  form  of  despotism 
groan  from  his  hollow  lungs  and  bloodless  heart,  that 
eloquence  is  the  instrument  of  turbulence  and  the  weapon 
of  faction.  Nay,  let  the  severe  and  honest  moralist  him- 
self pronounce  in  the  dream  of  abstraction,  that  truth  and 
virtue  need  not  the  aid  of  foreign  ornament.  Answer  ; 
silence  them  all.  Answer;  silence  them  forever,  by  re- 
curring to  this  great  and  overpowering  truth.  Say,  that 
by  the  eternal  constitution  of  things  it  wns  ordained,  that 
liberty  should  be  the  parent  of  eloquence ;  that  eloquence 
should  be  the  last  stay  and  support  of  liberty;  that  with 
her  she  is  ever  destined  to  live,  to  flourish,  and  to  die. 
Call  up  the  shades  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  to  vouch 
your  words;  point  to  their  immortal  works,  and  say, 
these  are  not  only  the  sublimest  strains  of  oratory,  that 
ever  issued  from  the  uninspired  lips  of  mortal  men  ;  they 
are  at  the  same  time  the  expiring  accents  of  liberty,  in 
the  nations,  which  have  shed  the  brightest  lustre  on  the 
•Jiame  of  man.  Mams9  Lecturer 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  AMERICAN  ELOQUENCE, 


"THERE  are  in  our  country  but  two  classes  of  men  who 
are  popular  speakers  by  profession.  Lawyers  who  com- 
mence practice  early  in  life,  with  a  superficial  general 
education,  and  an  equally  shallow  knowledge  of  legal 
science  ;  who,  from  an  ignorance  both  of  local  law,  and 
of  any  of  the  great  principles  of  universal  ethicks,  to  which 
to  refer  the  principles  of  their  case,  are  constrained  to 
resort  to  commonplace  topics  of  justification,  founded  on 
the  weakness  of  human  nature ;  subjects  of  defence 
equally  applicable  to  every  possible  case,  and  of  course 
equally  idle  in  all.  To  this  tendency  to  a  false  pathos, 
which  is  in  some  degrees  the  effect  of  ignorance,  the 
popularity  of  the  speeches  of  Mr.  Curran  has  a  good 
deal  contributed.  Mr.  Curran  is  certainly  eminently 
gifted  with  very  high  powers  of  eloquence,  but  is  perhaps 
a  dangerous  model  for  imitation  ;  and  if  to  be  imitated  at 
all,  it  can  never  be  after  the  manner  pursued  in  Amer- 
ica. Our  young  men  endeavor  to  rival  him,  with  no 
other  advantages  than  a  few  inaccurate  notions  of  meta- 
phor and  trope  drawn  from  Blairs  Lectures,  while  at  the 
university,  and  a  confused  knowledge  of  the  elementary 
principles  of  English  lawr,  gathered  in  a  hasty  perusal  of 
Blackstone's  Commentary!  They  do  not  consider  Mr. 
Cur  ran 's  discipline  in  the  several  branches  of  severer 
science ;  his  comprehensive  knowledge  of  history,  poli- 
tics and  ethics:  his  taste  refined  by  perpetual  inter- 
course with  living  orators  and  poets,  and  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  writings  of  their  immortal  prede- 
cessors. Then  he  possesses  an  original  brilliancy  of  ex- 
pressioo,  which  is  the  result  of  these  combined  causes 
operating  on  a  naturally  fruitful  exertion  and  poetic 
temperament.  They  should  imitate  him  in  these  previ- 
ous studies,  and  in  reading-  the  Latin  and  Greek  poets, 
before  they  attempt  his  passionate  and  truly  dramatic  el- 
oquence. Thus  far  they  have  succeeded,  only  in  copy- 
ing his  defects,  and  borrowing  from  him  those  useless 
appendages  to  his  declamation  which  he  gains  by  losing. 


£4  OBSERVATIONS  OS 

Some  of  them  have,  however,  succeeded  as  Rausscau  sr,}^ 
of  the  French  musical  academy,  who  were  advocates  foi 
loud  and  harsh  music,  "  in  making  a  great  noise  in  the 
world,"  but  we  are  consoled  by  knowing  that  it  will  be 
but  of  short  continuance. 

It  is  a  discouraging  circumstance  to  see  models  of  elo- 
quence, as  of  every  thing  else,  sought  exclusively  in  En- 
glisli  literature.  The  English  themselves  recur  to  anti 
quity,  as  the  father  of  all  that  is  sublime  or  beautiful  in 
poetry  or  prose,  and  the  tendency  of  American  taste  to  a 
very  different  style  of  speaking  from  that  of  the  best  and 
the  worst  orators  of  England,  plainly  indicates  a  differ- 
ence  in  the  national  standard  of  excellence.  Nature 
herself  has  ordered  it,  and  it  is  vain  for  art  to  resist. 
Instead  of  being  chilled  by  the  cold  damps  of  a  latitude 
north  of  50  degrees,  in  a  sea  girt  island,  we  have  a  warm 
and  genial  climate,  a  bright  sun  and  a  blue  sky.  Our 
continent  is  vast,  its  aspect  frequently  picturesque  and 
romantic,  is  often  sublime  and  beautiful.  The  rills,  and 
basins,  and  cascades  of  England  seem  but  the  mimicry  of 
nature,  when  compared  with  those  inland  seas  which  are 
fed  by  that  huge  river,  the  din  of  whose  thundering  cat- 
aract peals  on  every  hill  for  forty  miles :  or  with  that 
father  of  western  waters,  who,  drawing  his  torrent  from 
fountains  of  polar  snow,  warms  his  mighty  stream  in  a 
tropical  sun  before  he  reaches  the  ocean.  This  magnifi- 
cent scale  of  nature,  this  ethereal  sky?  will  impart  their 
influence  to  the  imagination  and  feelings.  Our  poets 
must  feed  their  lamps  from  the  fires  of  the  father  of  song, 
whose  eyes  yet  iindazzled  "  with  excess  of  light"  had 
stored  his  mind  with  that  sublime  scenery,  that  poetic 
drapery,  with  which  nature  has  clothed  the  countries 
which  dispute  the  honor  of  his  birth.  Lighter  bards 
must  drink  from  the  goblet  of  Anacreon — Orators  must 
p«re  over  the  burning  page  of  Demosthenes,  or  the  more 
luxuriant  decoration  of  Tully.  Let  them  not  do  this  ei- 
ther, to  the  exclusion  of  the  great  masters  of  their  own 
language  ;  for  no  one  can  have  a  competent  knowledge 
of  the  copiousness  and  power  of  the  English  tongue,  who 
has  not  read  Spencer,  and  Shakespear,  and  Hooker,  and 
Taylor,  and  the  intellectual  giants  of  that  wonderful  age. 
It  is  no  objection  to  what  I  have  here  said,  that  the 
\vorks  of  some  of  these  writers  abound  with  figures  and 
passages  of  the  sublimest  eloquence,  for  they  saw  the 


AMERICAN  ELOQUENCE.  25 

scenery  of  Greece  and  Italy  irradiated  by  the  genius  of 
Homer  and  Virgil,  and  even  then,  their  imaginations  re- 
tain deep  tints  of  the  northern  gloom.  Hooker  and  Tay- 
lor,  whose  sacred  ministry  led  them  to  the  study  of  orien- 
tal learning,  have  often  curiously  blended  the  different 
shades  of  eastern  and  western  poetry.  Some  of  the  effu- 
sions of  their  "  finest  phrenzies"  call  to  our  minds  the 
idea  of  Ossian  or  some  northern  bard,  striking  the  harp  of 
Isaiah,  with  instruments  tuned  to  a  prophets  ear,  and 
swept  by  a  poet's  hand,  the  music  must  needs  be  divine, 
occasionally  it  is  so,  but  the  periods  of  celestial  harmony, 
are  like  vidits  from  the  winged  hours  of  bliss,  "  few  and 
far  between." 

The  second  class  of  men  who  are  speakers  by  profes- 
sion, are  those,  who,  from  ambition  or  incompetence  to 
succeed  at  the  bar,  devote  their  lives  to  politics.  Gener- 
ally educated  for  the  law,  they  are  as  ill  prepared  for  the 
discharge  of  their  duty  as  the  others.  They  are,  howev- 
er, eager  to  speak  on  particular  occasions,  and  do  speak 
\vith  all  the  fatiguing  superficiality  which  results  from 
\vant  of  information,  and  act  with  confusion  for  want  of 
concert;  and  finally  leave  public  life  with  disgust  and 
disappointment,  for  want  of  preliminary  preparation. 
Hence  we  are  so  often  condemned,  to  hear  from  a  san- 
guine youth  on  the  floor  of  congress,  a  piece  of  florid  de- 
clamation of  half  an  hour's  continuance;  but  the  bloom 
perishes  without  the  fruit  ensuing.  And  hence  that 
crowd  of  self  deluded  boys,  who  think  to  become  orators 
in  a  day  by  celebrating  the  anniversary  of  our  indepen- 
dence in  a  few  bombastic  sentences.  I  would  recom- 
mend to  their  consideration  a  fine  thought  beautifully  ex- 
pressed by  Lord  Bolingbroke:  "Eloquence  has  charms 
to  lend  mankind,  and  gives  a  nobler  superiority  than  pow- 
er that  any  fool  may  use,  or  fraud  that  every  knave  may 
employ.  But  eloquence  must  flow  like  a  stream  that  is 
fed  by  an  abundant  spring,  and  not  spout  forth  a  little 
frothy  matter  on  some  gaudy  day,  and  remain  dry  the 
rest  of  the  year." 

Sketches  of  $.  Orators. 


THE 

REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

SCIENTIFIC. 

Of  Oratory. 

WE  come  now  to  speak  of  oratory,  as  it  is  divided  into 
the  several  parts  which  constitute  the  art.  These  have 
been  generally  the  following,  invention,  disposition^ 
style  or  composition,  pronunciation,  including  gesture. 

First.  INVENTION.  This  is  nothing  else  but  finding 
out  the  sentiments  by  which  a  speaker  or  writer  would 
explain  what  he  has  to  propose,  and  the  arguments  by 
which  he  would  enforce  it.  This  subject  is  treated  of 
very  largely  in  most  of  the  books  of  oratory,  in  which  I 
think  they  judge  very  wrong.  In  by  far  the  greatest 
number  of  cases,  there  is  no  necessity  for  teaching 
it,  and  where  it  is  necessary,  I  believe  it  exceeds  the 
power  of  man  to  teach  it  with  effect.  The  very  first  time, 
indeed,  that  a  young  person  begins  to  compose,  the  thing 
is  so  new  to  him,  that  it  is  apt  to  appear  dark  and  diffi- 
cult, and  in  a  manner  impossible.  But  as  soon  as  he  be- 
comes a  little  accustomed  to  it,  he  finds  much  more  diffi- 
culty in  selecting  what  is  proper  than  in  inventing  some- 
thing that  seems  to  be  tolerable.  There  are  some  per- 
sons, I  confess,  whom  their  own  stupidity,  or  that  of  their 
relations,  forces  to  attempt  public  speaking  who  are  en- 
tirely barren,  aad  notable  to  bring  out  any  thing,  either 


28  BEPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

good  or  bad;  but  this  is  exceedingly  rare,  and  when  it 
.oes  happen,  it  will  be  so  burdensome  to  the  man  him- 
5lf,  that  he  must  speedily  give  over  the  attempt.     There 
are  infinitely  more  who  have  plenty  of  matter,  such  as  it 
is,  but  neither  very  valuable  in  itself  nor  clothed  in  pro- 
per language.     I  think  it  happens  very  generally,  that 
those  who  are  least  concise  and  accurate  are  most  length  v 
and  voluminous. 

I  will  therefore  not  spend  much  time  upon  invention, 
leaving  it  to  the  spontaneous  production  of  capacity  and 
experience;  onJy  observe  that  it  is  called  a  common 
place,  from  whence  you  draw  your  argument.  That 
principle  of  law,  nature,  taste,  experience,  from  which 
you  fetch  your  topic,  and  apply  it  to  your  particular  case, 
is  a  common  place  ;  as,  for  example,  if  I  want  to  prove 
that  a  strict  discipline  in  society  is  best,  I  say  that  dis- 
cipline which  will,  in  the  most  effectual  manner,  restrain 
offences  is  certainly  the  best  ;  this  is  the  topic  or  common 
place. 

It  would  be  needless  to  point  out  the  sources  of  inven- 
tion, or  shew  from  whence  arguments  may  be  drawn,  for 
they  may  be  drawn  from  all  the  characters  or  qualities  of 
an  action  or  person,  ami  from  all  the  circumstances  that 
accompany  it.  If  I  mean  to  aggravate  a  crime  or  injury, 
I  say  it  was  done  deliberately,  obstinately,  repeatedly, 
without  temptation,  against  many  warnings,  and  much 
kindness;  that  its  effects  are  very  bad  to  a  man's  self,  to 
others,  to  the  character,  the  person,  the  estate,  &c.  If  I 
want  to  speak  in  praise  of  a  free  government,  I  mention 
its  happy  effects,  in  giving  security  and  happiness,  pro- 
moting industry,  encouraging  genius,  producing  value  ; 
and  then  I  apply  to  experience  and  shew  the  happiness  of 
free  states,  and  the  misery  of  those  that  have  been  kept, 
in  slavery :  but  I  repeat  the  remark  that  invention  need 
not  be  taught,  unless  it  be  to  one  that  never  yet  composed 
a  sentence.  There  have  been  books  of  common  place, 
published,  containing  arguments  and  topics  for  illustra- 
tion, and  even  similitudes — sayings  of  the  sncients,  &c- 
but  they  are  of  very  little  use,  unless  to  a  person  that  has 
up  fund  of  his  own,  and  then  one  that  makes  use  of  them 
is  like  a  man  walking  on  stilts ;  they  make  him  look  very 
big,  but  he  walks  very  feebly. 

Second.  The  next  division  of  the  oratorial  art  is  dis- 
position or  Distribution,  This  is  a  matter  of  the  utmost 


SCIENTIFIC.  29 

moment,  and  upon  which  instruction  is  both  necessary 
and  useful.  By  disposition,  as  a  part  of  the  oratorial  art, 
I  mean  order  in  general  in  the  whole  of  a  discourse  or 
any  kind  of  composition,  be  it  what  it  will.  As  to  the 
parts  of  which  a  single  speech  or  oration  consists,  they 
will  be  afterwards  considered.  Before  I  proceed  to  ex- 
plain  or  point  out  the  way  to  attain  good  order,  I  would 
just  mention  a  few  of  its  excellencies. 

1st.  Good  order  in  a  discourse  gives  light,  and  makes 
it  easily  understood.  If  things  are  thrown  together  with- 
out method,  each  of  them  will  be  less  understood,  and 
then  joint  influence  in  leading  to  a  conclusion  will  not  be 
perceived.  It  is  a  noble  expression  of  Horace,  who  calls 
it  lucidos  ordo,  clear  order.  It  is  common  to  say,  when 
we  hear  a  confused  discourse.  "  It  had  neither  head 
nor  tail,  I  could  not  understand  what  iie  would  be  at." 
(2)  Order  is  necessary  to  force  as  well  as  light ;  this  in- 
deed is  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  other,  for  we  shall 
never  be  persuaded  by  what  we  do  not  understand. 
Very  often  the  force  "of  reasoning  depends  upon  the 
united  influence  of  several  distinct  propositions.  If  they 
are  ranged  in  a  just  order,  they  will  all  have  their  effect 
and  support  one  another;  if  otherwise,  it  will  be  like  a 
number  of  men  attempting  to  raise  a  weight,  and  one 
pulling  at  one  time  and  another  at  another,  which  will  do 
just  nothing  5  but  if  all  exert  their  power  at  once,  it  will 
be  easily  overcome. 

Third.  Order  is  also  necessary  for  assisting  memory. 
Order  is  necessary  even  in  a  discourse  that  is  to  have  a 
transient  effect  5  but  if  any  thing  is  intended  to  produce  a 
lasting  conviction,  and  to  have  a  daily  influence,  it  is  still 
more  necessary  when  things  are  disposed  in  a  proper  order, 
the  same  concatenation  that  is  in  the  discourse  takes  place 
in  the  memory,  so  that  when  one  thing  is  remembered, 
it  immediately  brings  to  rememberance  what  has  an  easy 
and  obvious  connexion  with  it.  The  association  of  idea 
linked  together  by  any  tie  is  very  remarkable  in  our  con- 
stitution, and  is  supposed  to  take  place  from  some  impres- 
sion made  upon  the  brain.  If  we  have  seen  two  persons 
but  once,  and  seen  them  both  at  the  same  time  only,  or  at 
trie  same  place  only,  the  remembrance  of  the  one  can 
hardly  be  separated  from  the  other.  I  may  also  illus- 
trate the  subject  by  another  plain  instance  Suppose  I 
desire  a  person  going  to  the  city  to  do  two  or  three  things 
c£ 


SO  REPUBLICAN  COMPILED 

for  me  that  are  wholly  unconnected,  as  to  deliver  a  let- 
ter to  one  person — to  visit  a  friend  of  mine,  and  to  bring 
me  notice  how  he  is — to  buy  a  certain  book  for  me  if  ho 
can  find  it — and  to  see  whether  any  ship  be  to  sail  to  Bri- 
tain soon,  it  is  very  possible  he  may  remember  some  of 
them,  and  forget  me  others  ;  but  if  I  desire  him  to  buy 
me  a  dozen  of  silver  spoons,  to  carry  them  to  an  engraver 
to  put  my  name  upon  them,  and  get  a  case  to  put  them  in? 
if  he  remembers  one  article  it  is  likely  he  will  remember 
all  of  them.  It  is  one  of  the  best  evidences  that  a  dis- 
course has  been  composed  with  distinctness  and  accura- 
cy, if  after  you  go  away  you  can  remember  a  good  deal 
of  it;  but  there  are  sometimes  discourses  which  are 
pompous  and  declamatory, and  which  you  hear  with  pleas- 
ure, and  some  sort  of  approbation,  but  if  you  attempt  to 
recollect  the  truths  advanced,  or  the  arguments  in  sup- 
port of  them,  there  is  not  a  trace  of  them  to  be  found. 

Fourth.  Order  conduces  also  very  much  to  beauty. 
Order  is  never  omitted,  when  men  give  the  principles  of 
fceauty,  and  confusion  is  disgustful  just  on  its  own  ac- 
count, whatever  the  nature  of  the  confused  things  may  be$ 
If  you  were  to  see  a  vast  heap  of  fine  furniture,  of  different 
kinds,  lying  in  confusion,  you  could  neither  perceive  half" 
so  distinctly  what  was  there,  nor  could  it  at  all  have  such 
an  effect,  as  if  every  thing  was  disposed  in  a  just  order, 
and  placed  where  it  ought  to  stand;  nay,  a  much  smaller 
quantity,  elegantly  disposed,  would  exceed  in  grandeur 
of  appearance  chief  of  the  most  costly  things  in  nature. 

Fifth.  Order  is  also  necessary  to  brevity.  A  confus- 
ed discourse  is  almost  never  short,  and  is  always  filled 
with  repetitions.  It  is  with  thought,  in  this  respect,  as 
with  things  visible  :  for  to  return  to  the  former  similitude, 
A  confused  heap  of  goods  or  furniture  fills  much  more 
room  than  when  it  is  ranged  and  classed  in  its  proper  or- 
der, and  every  thing  carried  to  its  proper  place. 

Having  shewn  the  excellence  of  precision  and  method, 
let  us  next  try  to  explain  what  it  is,  and  that  I  may  have 
some  regard  to  method  while  I  am  speaking  of  the  very 
subject,  I  shall  take  it  in  three  lights.  (1st)  There 
must  be  an  attention  to  order  in  the  disposition  of  the 
whole  piece.  Whatever  the  parts  be  in  themselves, 
they  have  also  a  relation  to  one  another,  and  to  the  whote 
body  (if  I  may  speak  so)  that  they  are  to  compose.  Eve 
-y  work,  be  it  what  it  will?  history,  epic  poem,  dramatic 


SCIENTIFIC,  £1 

poem,  oratory,  epistle,  or  essay,  is  to  be  considered  as  a 
whole,  and  a  clearness  of  judgment  in  point  of  method 
will  decide  the  place  and  proportion  of  the  several  parts 
of  which  they  are  composed,  The  loosest  essay,  or  where 
form  is  least  professed  or  studied,  ou^ht  yet  to  have  some 
shape  as  a  whole,  and  we  may  say  of  it,  that  it  begins  ab- 
ruptly or  ends  abruptly,  or  some  of  the  parts  are  misplac- 
ed. "There  are  often  to  be  seen  pieces  in  which  good 
things  are  said,  and  well  said  and  have  only  this  fault, 
that  they  are  unseasonable  and  out  of  place.  Horace 
says,  in  his  art  of  poetry,  what  is  equally  applicable  to 
every  sort  of  composition.  "  Donique  sit  quod  vis  sim- 
plex duntaxat  et  unum"  and  shortly  after, "  In  felix  ope- 
ns summa,  quia  porere  totum  nesciet." 

This  judgement  in  planning  the  whole  will  particular- 
ly enable  a  person  to  determine  both  as  to  the  place  and 
proportion  of  the  different  parts,  whether  they  be  not  on- 
ly good  in  themselves,  but  fit  to  be  introduced  in  such  a 
work,  and  it  will  also  (if  I  may  speak  so)  give  a  colour  to 
the  whole  composition.  The  necessity  of  order  in  the 
whole  structure  of  a  piece  shows,  that  the  rule  is  good 
which  is  given  by  some,  that  an  orator,  before  he  begins 
Ins  discourse,r*hould  concentrate  the  subject  as  it  weref 
and  reduce  it  to  one  single  proposition,  either  expressed, 
or  at  least  conceived  in  his  mind.  Every  thing  should 
grow  out  of  this  as  its  root,  if  it  be  in  another  principle 
to  be  explained  $  or  refer  to  this  as  its  end,  if  it  be  a  point 
to  be  gained  by  persuasion.  Having  thus  stated  the  point 
clearly  to  be  handled,  it  will  afford  a  sort  of  criterion 
whether  any  thing  adduced  is  proper  or  improper.  It 
will  suggest  the  topics  that  are  just  and  suitable,  as  well  as 
enable  us  to  reject  whatever  is  in  substance  improper,  or 
in  size  disproportionate  to  the  design.  Agreeably  to 
this  principle,  1  think  that  not  only  the  subject  of  a  sin- 
gle discourse  should  be  reduceable  to  one  proposition,  but 
the  general  divisions  or  principal  heads  should  not  be  ma- 
ny  in  number.  A  great  number  of  general  heads  both 
burdens  the  memory,  and  breaks  the  unity  of  the  subject, 
and  carries  the  idea  of  several  little  discourses  joined  to- 
gether or  to  follow  after  one  another. 

2d.  Order  is  necessary  in  the  subdivisions  of  a  sub- 
ject, or  the  way  of  stating  and  marshelling  of  the  several 
portions  of  any  general  head.  This  is  applicable  to  all 
kinds  of  composition,  and  all  kinds  of  oratory,  sermons, 


S3  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

law  pleadings,  speeches.  There  is  always  a  division  of 
the  parts,  as  well  as  of  the  whole,  either  expressed  formal- 
ly and  numerically,  or  supposed,  though  suppressed. 
And  it  is  as  much  here  as  any  where,  that  the  confusion 
of  inaccurate  writers  and  speakers  appears.  It  is  always 
necessary  to  have  some  notion  of  the  whole  of  a  piece, 
and  the  large  divisions,  being  more  bulky,  to  speak,  dis- 
position in  them  is  more  easily  perceived,  but  in  the 
smaller,  both  their  order  and  size  are  in  danger  of  being 
less  attended  to.  Observe,  therefore,  that  to  be  accurate 
and  just,  the  subdivisions  of  any  composition,  such  I 
mean  as  are  (for  example)  introduced  in  a  numerical  se~ 
ries,  1,  2,  3,  &c.  Should  have  the  following  properties* 
(1)  They  should  be  clear  and  plain.  Every  thing  indeed 
should  be  clear,  as  far  as  he  can  make  it,  but  precision 
and  distinctness  should  especially  appear  in  the  subdivi- 
sions, just  as  the  bounding  lines  of  countries  in  a  map. 
For  this  reason  the  first  part  of  a  subdivision  should  be 
rike  a  short  definition,  and  when  it  can  be  done,  it  is 
but  expressed  in  a  single  term  $  for  example,  in  giving  the 
character  of  a  man  of  learning,  I  may  propose  to  speak 
of  his  genius,  his  erudition,  his  industry,  or  application. 

(2)  They  should  be  truely  distinct;   that  is,  every 
body  should  perceive  that  they  are  really  different  from 
one  another,  not  in  phrase  or  word  only,  but  in  sentiment, 
If  you  praise  a  man  first  for  his  judgment,  and  then  for 
his  understanding ;  they  are  either  altogether  or  so  near- 
ly the  same,  or  so  nearly  allied,  as  not  to  require  distinc- 
tion.    I  have  heard  a  minister  on  John  xvii.   11.  Holy 
Father,  &c.  in  showing  how  God  keeps  his  people,  says, 

He  keeps  their  feet.  He  shall  keep  thy  feet  from 
ing.  (2)  He  keeps  their  way.  Thou  shalt  keep  him 
in  all  his  ways.  Now,  it  is  plain  that  these  are  not  two 
different  things,  but  two  metaphors  for  the  same  thing. 
This  indeed  was  faulty  also  in  another  respect  5  for  a 
metaphor  ought  not  to  make  a  division  at  all. 

(3)  Subdivisions  should  be  necessary ;  that  is  to  say, 
taking  the  word  in  the  loose  and  popular  sense,  the  sub- 
ject should  seem  to  demand  them,  to  multiply  divisions,, 
even  where  they  may  be  made  really  distinct,  is  tedious, 
and  disgustful,unles*s  where  they  are  of  use  and  import- 
ance to  our  clearly  comprehending  the  meaning,  or  feel- 
ing the  fore*  of  what  is  said.    If  a  person  in  the  map  of  a 
country  should  give  a  different  colour  to  every  three 


(1)  He  ! 
falling. 


SCIENTIFIC.  S3 

miles,  though  the  equality  of  the  proportion  would  make 
the  division  clear  enough,  yet  it  would  appear  disgusting- 
ly superfluous.  In  writing  the  history  of  an  eminent  per- 
son's life,  to  divide  it  into  spaces  of  ten  years,  perhaps 
would  make  the  view  of  the  whole  more  exact ;  but  to 
divide  it  into  single  years  or  months  would  be  finical  and 
disagreeable.  The  increase  of  divisions  leads  almost  un- 
avoidably into  tediousness. 

(4)  Subdivisions  should  be  co-ordinate ;  that  is  to  say, 
those  that  go  on  in  a  series,  1,  2,  3,  &c.  should  be  as  near 
as  possible  similar,  or  of  the  same  kind,  this  rule  is  trans- 
gressed when  either  the  things  mentioned  are  wholly  dif- 
ferent in  kind,  or  when  they  include  one  another.     This 
-will  be  well  perceived,  if  we  consider  how  a  man  would 
describe  a  sensible  subject,  a  country,  for  example ;  New 
Jersey  contains  (1)  Middlesex,  (2)  Somerset  county,  (3) 
the  townships  of  Princton,  (4)  Morris  county.    So  if  one, 
in  describing  the  character  of  a  real  Christian,  should  say, 
faith,  holiness,  charity,  justice,  temperance,  patience, 
this  \yould  not  do,  because  holiness  includes  justice,  &c. 
When$  therefore,  it  seems  necessary  to  mention  different 
particulars,  that  cannot  be  made  co-ordinate,  they  should 
be  made  subordinate. 

(5)  Subdivisions  should  be  complete,  and  exhaust  the 
subject.     This  indeed  is  common  to  all  divisions,  but  is 
of  most  importance  here,  where  it  is  most  neglected.     It 
may  be  said,  perhaps,  how  can  we  propose  to  exhaust  any 
subject  ?  By  making  the  divisions  suitable,  particularly 
in  point  of  comprehension,  to  the  nature  of  the  subject; 
as  an  example,  and  to  make  use  of  the  image  before  in- 
troduced of  giving;  an  account  of  a  country. — I  may  say, 
the  province  of  New  Jersey  consists  of  two  parts,  East 
arid  West  Jersey.     If  I  say  it  consists  of  the  counties  of 
Somerset,  &c.   I  must  continue  till  I  have  enumerated 
all  the  counties,  otherwise  the  division  is  not  complete. 
In  the  same  manner  in  public  speaking,  or  any  other 
composition,  whatever  division  is  made   it  is  not  legiti- 
mate, if  it  does  not  include  or  exhaust  the  whole  subject, 
which  may  be  done  let  it  be  ever  so  great.     For  example : 
true  religion  may  be  divided  various  ways,  so  as  to  in- 
clude the  whole.     I  may  say,  that  it  consists  of  our  duty 
to  God  and  man,  and  divide  the  last  into  two  subordinate 
heads,  our  neighbour  and  ourselves — or  I  may  say,  that 
It  consists  of  faith  and  practice — or  that  it  consists  of  two 


34  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

parts,  a  right  frame  and  temper  of  mind,  and  a  good  life 
and  conversation. 

(6)  Lastly.  The  subdivisions  of  any  subject  should  be 
connected,  or  should  be  taken  in  a  series  or  order,  if  they 
will  possibly  admit  of  it.  In  some  moral  and  intellectual 
subjects,  it  may  not  be  easy  to  find  any  series  or  natural 
order,  as  in  an  enumeration  of  virtues,  justice,  temper- 
ance and  fortitude.  Patience  perhaps  might  as  well  be 
enumerated  in  any  other  order;  yet  there  is  often  an 
order  that  will  appear  natural,  and  the  inversion  of  it  un- 
natural— as  we  may  say,  injuries  are  done  many  ways  to 
a  man's  person,  character  and  possessions.  Love  to 
others  includes  the  relation  of  family,  kindred,  citizens, 
country-men,  fellow-creatures. 

(3)  In  the  last  place  there  is  also  an  order  to  be  ob- 
served in  the  sentiments  which  make  the  illustration  or 
amplification  of  the  divisions  of  a  discourse.  This  order 
is  never  expressed  by  numerical  divisions,  yet  it  is  of 
great  importance,  and  its  beauty  and  force  will  be  par- 
ticularly felt.  It  is,  if  I  may  speak  so,  of  a  finer  and 
more  delicate  nature  than  any  of  the  others,  more  vari- 
ous, and  harder  to  explain.  I  once  have  said  that  all 
reasoning  is  of  the  nature  of  a  syllogism,  which  lays  down 
principles,  makes  comparisons,  and  draws  the  couclu- 
sion.  But  we  must  particularly  guard  against  letting  the 
uniformity  and  formality  of^a  syllogism  appear.  In 
general,  whatever  establishes  any  connection,  so  that  it 
makes  the  sentiments  give  rise  to  one  another,  is  the  oc- 
casion of  order — sometimes  necessity  and  utility  point 
out  the  order  as  a  good  measure — as  in  telling  a  story 
grave  or  humourous,  you  must  begin  by  describing  the 
persons  concerned,  mentioning  just  as  many  circum- 
stances of  their  character  and  situation  as  are  necessary 
to  make  us  understand  the  facts  to  be  afterwards  related. 
Sometimes  the  sensible  ideas  of  time  and  place  suggest  an 
order,  not  only  in  historical  relations,  and  in  law  plead- 
ings which  relate  to  facts  but  in  drawing  of  characters, 
describing  the  progress  and  effects  of  virtue  and  vice, 
and  even  i a  other  subjects,  where  the  connexion  between 
those  ideas  and  the  things  spoken  of  is  not  very  strong. 

Sometimes,  and  indeed  generally,  there  is  an  order 
which  proceeds  from  things  plain  to  things  obscure.  The 
beginning  of  a  paragraph  should  be  like  the  sharp  point  of 
a  wedge,  which  gain's  admittance  to  the  bulky  part  behind. 


SCIENTIFIC.  55 

it  first  affirms  what  every  body  feels  and  must  confess, 
and  proceeds  to  what  follows  as  a  necessary  consequence  : 
In  fine,  there  is  an  order 'in  persuasion  to  a  particular 
choice,  which  may  be  taken  two  ways  with  equal  advan- 
tage, proceeding  from  the  weak  to  the  stronger  or  from 
the  stronger  to  the  weaker.  As,  in  recommending  a 
pious  and  virtuous  life,  we  may  first  say  it  is  amiable, 
honourable,  pleasant,  profitable  even  in  the  present  life ; 
and  to  crown  all,  makes  death  itself  a  friend,  and  leads  to 
a  glorious  immortality  ;  or,  we  may  begin  the  other  way, 
and  say  it  is  the  one  thing  needful,  that  eternity  is  the 
great  and  decisive  argument  that  should  determine  our 
choice,  though  every  thing  else  were  in  favour  of  vice  ; 
and  then  add,  that  even  in  present  life,  it  is  a  great  mis- 
take to  think  that  bad  men  are  gainers,  Sec.  This  is 
called  sometimes  the  ascending  and  descending  climax. 
Each  of  them  has  its  beauty  and  use.  It  must  be  left  to 
the  orator's  judgement  to  determine  which  of  the  two  is 
cither  fittest  for  the  present  purpose,  or  which  he  finds 
hiimself  at  that  time  able  to  execute  to  the  greatest  advan- 
tage. Wither  spoon's  Lectures. 


Of  Simplicity  in  Writing. 

IT  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  bring  young  persons  espe- 
cially, to  a  taste  tor  the  simple  way  of  writing.  They  are 
apt  to  think  it  of  little  moment,  not  so  much  the  object 
of  ambition  as  an  exercise  of  self-denial,  to  say  a  thing 
plainly,  when  they^  might  have  said  it  nobly.  I  would 
observe  therefore,  in  the  very  beginning,  that  it  is  a  mis- 
take to  consider  simplicity  and  sublimity  as  universally 
opposite ;  for  on  the  contrary,  there  is  not  only  a  great 
excellence  in  some  performances,  which  we  may  call 
wholly  of  the  simple  kind,  such  as  a  story  told,  or  an 
epistle  written,  with  all  the  beauty  of  simplicity,  but  in 
the  most  sublime  and  animated  compositions,  some  of  the 
greatest  sentiments  derive  their  beauty  from  being  cloth- 
ed in  simple  language.  Simplicity  is  even  as  necessary 
to  some  parts  of  an  oration,  as  it  is  to  the  whole  of  some 
kinds  of  composition.  Let  the  subject  be  ever  so  great 
and  interesting,  it  is  prudent,  decent  and  necessary  to 


35  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

begin  the  discourse  in  a  cool  and  dispassionate  manner. 
That  man  who  should  begin  an  oration  with  the  same 
boldness  of  figure,  and  the  same  high  pitch  of  voice,  that 
would  be  proper  towards  the  close  of  it,  would  commit 
one  of  the  greatest  faults  against  propriety,  and  I  think, 
would  wholly  prevent  its  effect  upon  the  hearers. 

But  how  shall  we  explain  the  simple  manner  of  writ- 
ing?   It  is,  say  many  authors,  th.4  which  is  likest  to,  and 
least  removed  from  the  language  of  common  life.     It 
must  therefore  be  easy  and  obvious,  few  or  no  figures  in 
the  expression,  nothing  obscure  in  the  sentiments  or  in- 
volved in  the  method.     Long  sentences  are  contrary  to 
it ;  words  either  difficult  or  uncommon  are  inconsistent 
with  it.     Cicero  and  Horace  have  both  said,  and  all  crit- 
ics have  said  after  them,  it  is  that  which,  when  men  hear, 
they  think  that  they  themselves  could  only  have  said  the 
same,  or  that  it  is  just  a  kind  of  expression  of  their  own 
thoughts.     They  generally  remark  further,  that  it  is  what 
seems  to  be  easy,  but  yet  is  not ;  as  Horace  says,  ut  sibi 
quivis,  speret  idem,  &c.     We  may  further  observe,  that 
what  is  truly  simple,  always  carries  in  it  the  idea  of  be- 
ing easy  in  its  production,  as  well  as  in  imitation,  ancl 
indeed  the  one  of  these  seems  necessary  to  support  the 
other.     Whatever  seems  to  be  the  e fleet  of  study  and 
much  invention,  cannot  be  simple.     It  is  finely  exempli- 
fied in  the  introduction  of  Anthony's  speech  in  Shake- 
speare :   I  am  no  orator  as  Brutus  is,  &c.     Rollin  has 
given  us  an  admirable  example  of  a  story  told  with  a 
beautiful  simplicity,  from  Cicero's  offices.     There  is  an 
example  also  in  Livy's  account  of  the  battle  of  the  Ho- 
ratii  and  Curiatii,  only  with  a  little  more  force  of  expres- 
sion, as  the  importance  and  solemnity  of  the  subject 
seemed  to  require  it.     But  it  requires  a  very  masterly 
knowledge  of  the  Latin  language,  to  perceive  the  beau- 
ties fully,  that  are  pointed  at  by  Rollin  in  the  first  in- 
stance, or  might  easily  be  mentioned  in  the  last.     There 
is  no  author  in  our  language  who  excels  more  in  simplici- 
ty than  Addison — The  Spectator,  in  general,  indeed,  but 
especially  the  papers  written  by  him,  excel  in  this  qual- 
ity.    Ease  and  elegance  are  happily  joined  in  them,  and 
nature  itself,  as  it  were,  seems  to  speak  in  them.    If 
some  of  the  later  periodical  writers  have  equalled,  or 
even  excelled  them  in  force  or  elegance,  not  one  has  ever 
come  up  to  them  in  simplicity. 


SCIENTIFIC.  H 

The  subjects  or  the  species  of  writing  In  which  sim- 
plicity chiefly  shines,  are  narration,  dialogue,  epistolary 
writing,  essay  writing,  and  all  the  lighter  species  of  po- 
etry, as  odes,  songs,  epigrams,  elegies,  and  such  like. 
The  ancients  were  remarkable  for  a  love  and  admiration 
of  simplicity;  and  some  of  them  remain  to  us  as  emi- 
nent examples  of  its  excellence.  Xenophon,  in  his  in- 
stitutions of  Cyrus,  is  particularly  remarkable  for  a  sweet 
and  dignified  simplicity.  He  uses  neither  language  nor 
ideas  that  are  difficult  and  far-fetched.  In  the  smaller 
compositions  of  the  ancients,  as  odes,  epigrams,  &c.  they 
were  at  prodigious  pains  to  polish  them,  and  make  them 
quite  easy  and  natural.  They  placed  their  great  glory 
in  bestowing  much  art,  and  at  the  same  time,  making  it 
appear  quite  easy  and  artless,  according  to  the  saying 
now  grown  into  a  proverb,  artis  est  celare  artem.  The 
beauty  of  simplicity  may  not  appear  at  first  sight,  or 
be  at*  all  perceived  by  persons  of  a  vitiated  taste,  but 
all  persons  of  good  judgment  immediately,  and  the  bulk 
of  mankind  in  time,  are  charmed  with  what  is  quite  easy5 
and  yet  truly  accurate  and  elegant. 

It  ought  to  be  carefully  observed,  that  simplicity  is 
quite  a  different  thing  from  lowness  and  meanness,  and 
the  great  art  of  a  writer  is,  to  preserve  the  one  without 
degenerating  into  the  other.  It  is  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world,  to  speak  or  write  vulgarisms,  but  a  person  of 
true  taste,  will  carefully  avoid  every  thing  of  that  kind. 
For  example,  one  who  would  write  simply,  and  as  near 
the  language  of  common  people  in  ordinary  discourse  as 
possible,  would  yet  avoid  every  absurdity  or  barbarism 
that  obtains  a  place  in  common  conversation ;  as  to  say, 
"This  here  table,  and  that  there  candle."  It  is  also 
quite  contrary  to  simplicity,  to  adopt  the  quaint  expres- 
sions or  cant  phrases,  that  are  the  children  of  fashion  and 
obtain  for  a  little,  or  in  some  particular  places  and  not 
in  others.  The  Spectator  attacked  with  great  spirit  and 
propriety,  several  of  these  that  were  introduced  into  con- 
versation and  writing  in  his  time,  such  as,  mob,  rep,  pos, 
bite,  bamboozle,  and  several  others.  Most  of  them  he 
fairly  defeated,  but  one  or  two  of  them  got  the  better  of 
him,  and  are  now  freely  introduced  into  the  language, 
such  as  mob.  Johnson  also  has  put  bamboozle  in  his  dic- 
tionary, which  he  calls,  indeed,  a  low  word.  Arbuthnot 
is  his  authority,  but  it  was  plainly  used  by  him  in  the 

D 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

of  ridicule,  and  therefore,  it  should  either  not  have 
been  in  the  dictionary?  at  all,  or  such  an  authority  should 
oot  have  been  given  for  it. 

It  is  exceedingly  difficult,  and  requires  an  excellent 
judgment,  to  be  able  to  descend  to  great  simplicity,  and 
yet,  to  keep  out  every  low  expression  or  idea.  1  do  not 
think  it  is  easy  to  be  a  thorough  judge  of  pure  diction  in 
any  language  but  our  own,  and  not  even  in  that,  with- 
out a  good  deal  of  the  knowledge  of  human  life,  and  a 
thorough  acquaintance  with  the  best  authors.  Writers 
and  speakers,  of  little  judgment,  are  apt,  at  times,  to  go 
into  extremes,  to  swell  too  much  on  the  one  hand,  and  to 
fall  into  what  is  vulgar  and  offensive  on  the  other. 

When  speaking  on  simplicity,  I  observe  that  there  is 
a  simplicity  in  the  taste  and  composition  of  a  whole  dis- 
course, different  from  simplicity  of  sentiment  and  lan- 
guage in  the  particular  parts.  This  will  incline  a  man 
to  avoid  all  unnecessary  ornament,  particularly  the  orna- 
ments of  fashion,  and  the  peculiar  dress  or  mode  of  the 
times. 

We  say,  in  architecture?  that  a  building  is  in  a  sim- 
ple style,  when  it  has  not  a  great  multiplicity  of  orna- 
ments, or  is  not  loaded  with  beauties,  so  to  speak.  It 
Is  very  remarkable  that  books  written  in  the  same  age, 
"will  differ  very  much,  one  from  another,  in  this  respect  j 
and  those  which  have  least  of  the  ornaments  then  in 
vogue,  continue  in  reputation,  when  the  others  are  grown 
ridiculous.  I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  this :  a  small 
religious  treatise,  ScougaPs  Life  of  God  in  the  Soul  of 
Man,  which  is  written  with  great  simplicity,  and  yet  dig- 
nity, and  may  now  be  read  with  pleasure  and  approba- 
tion, by  persons  of  the  best  taste ;  while  most  of  the  other 
writers  of  his  age  and  country,  are  ridiculous  or  hardly 
intelligible. 

Perhaps  it  may  help  us  to  form  right  notions  of  simpli- 
city, to  consider,  what  are  the  opposites,  or  the  greatest 
enemies.  (1)  One  is  abstraction  of  sentiment,  or  too 
great  refinement  of  any  kind :  of  this,  the  greatest  exam- 
ple in  an  author  of  merit,  is  the  writer  of  the  Rambler; 
almost  every  page  of  his  writings,  furnish  us  with  in- 
stances of  departure  from  simplicity,  partly  in  the  senti- 
ment, and  partly  in  the  diction. 

(2)  Another  is  allegory,  and  especially  far-fetched  al- 
lusions, as  in  the  example  which  the  Spectator  gives  of  a 


SCIENTIFIC,  a  3 

poet,  who  speaks  of  Bacchus'  cast  coat :  this  is  little  bet- 
ter than  a  riddle,  and  even  those  who  discern  it,  will  take 
a  little  time  to  reflect,  that,  according  to  the  heathen  my- 
thology, Bacchus  was  the  god  of  wine ;  wine  is  kept  in 
casks,  and  therefore,  an  empty  cask,  or  at  least  an  use- 
less one,  may  be  called  Bacchus'  cast  coat. 

(3)  A  third  enemy  to  simplicity,  is  an  affectation  of 
learning :    This  spoils  simplicity  many  ways  ;   it  intro- 
duces terms  of  art,  which  cannot  be  understood,  but  by 
those  who  are  adepts  in  a  particular  branch.     Such  per- 
sons have  been  long  exposed  to  ridicule,  under  the  name 
of  pedants.     Sometimes,  indeed,  the  word  pedantry  has 
been  in  a  manner  confined  to  those  addicted  to  classic 
literature,  and  who  intermix  every  thing  they  say  with 
scraps,  taken  from  the  learned  languages;  but  this  is 
quite  improper  ;  for  lawyers,  physicians,  dunces,  or 
schoolmasters,  are  equally  ridiculous,  when  they  fill 
their  discourse  with  words  drawn  from  their  particular 
art. 

(4)  The  only  other  enemy  to  simplicity  I  shall  men- 
tion, is,  an  ambition  to  excel.     This,  perhaps,  should  not 
have  been  so  much  divided  from  the  rest,  as  to  be  made 
the  great  principle  from  which  the  rest  proceed.     No- 
thing more  certainly  renders  a  man  ridiculous,  than  an 
over-forwardness  to  display  his  excellence;  he  is  not 
content  with  plain  things,  and  particularly  with  such 
things  as  every  body  might  say,  because  these  would  not 
distinguish  him. 

On  the  whole,  as  I  observed  on  sublimity,  that  one  of 
the  best  and  surest  ways  to  attain  it,  was  to  think  nobly, 
so  the  best  way  to  write  simply,  is  to  think  simply,  to 
avoid  all  affectation,  to  attempt  to  form  your  manner 
of  thinking  to  a  noble  self-denial.  A  man  little  solicit- 
ous about  \yhat  people  think  of  him,  or  rather  having  his 
attention  fixed  on  quite  another  purpose,  viz.  giving  in- 
formation, or  producing  conviction,  will  only  attain  to  a 
simple  manner  of  writing,  and  indeed  he  will  write  best 
in  all  respects. 

Wither  spoon*  9  Lecty: 


DESCRIPTIVE, 


Singular  Natural  Walls  on  the  Banks  of  the  Missouri. 


WE  came  to  a  high  wall  of  black  rock,  rising  from  the 
water's  edge  on  the  south,  above  the  cliffs  of  the  river: 
this  continued  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  high  open  plain,  till  three  miles  further  a  se- 
cond wall,  two  hundred  feet  high,  rose  on  the  same  side. 
Three  miles  further,  a  wall  of  the  same  kind,  about  two 
hundred  feet  high  and  twelve  in  thickness,  appeared  to 
the  north :  these  hills  and  river  cliffs  exhibit  a  most  extra- 
ordinary and  romantic  appearance :  they  rise  in  most  pla- 
ces nearly  perpendicular  from  the  water,  to  the  height  of 
between  two  and  three  hundred  feet,  and  are  formed  of 
very  white  sand  stone,  so  soft  as  to  yield  readily  to  the 
impression  of  water,  in  "the  upper  part  of  which  lie  imbed- 
ded two  or  three  thin  horizontal  stratas  of  white  freestone 
insensible  to  the  rain,  and  on  the  top  is  a  dark  rich  loam, 
v/hich  forms  a  gradually  ascending  plain,  from  a  mile  to 
a  mile  and  a  half  in  extent,  when  the  hills  again  rise  ab- 
ruptly to  the  height  of  about  three  hundred  feet  more.  In 
trickling  down  the  cliffs,  the  water  has  worn  the  soft  sand 
stone  into  a  thousand  grotesque  figures,  among  which 
with  a  kittle  fancy  may  be  discerned  elegant  ranges  of 
freestone  buildings,  with  columns  variously  sculptured., 
and  supporting  long  and  elegant  galleries,  while  the  para- 
pets are  adorned  with  statuary :  on  a  nearer  approach 
they  represent  every  form  of  elegant  ruins;  columns, 
jome  with  pedestals  afld  capitols  entire,  others  mutilated 


42  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

and  prostrate,  and  some  rising  pyramidically  over  each 
other  till  they  terminate  in  a  sharp  point.  These  are 
varied  by  nicnes,  alcoves  and  the  customary  appearances 
of  desolated  magnificence :  the  illusion  is  increased  by 
the  number  of  martins,  who  have  built  their  globular  nests 
in  the  niches  and  hover  over  these  columns ;  as  in  our 
country  they  are  accustomed  to  frequent  large  stone 
structures.  As  we  advance,  there  seems  no  end ''to  the 
visionary  enchantment  which  surrounds  us.  In  the 
midst  of  this  fantastic  scenery  are  vast  ranges  of  walls? 
which  seem  the  productions  of  art,  so  regular  is  the  work- 
manship :  they  rise  perpendicularly  from  the  river,  some- 
times to  the  height  of  one  hundred  feet,  varying  in  thick- 
ness from  one  to  twelve  feet,  being  equally  broad  at  the 
top  as  below.  The  stones  of  which  they  are  formed  are 
black,  thick,  and  durable,  and  composed  of  a  vast  portion 
of  earth,  intermixed  and  cemented  with  a  small  quantity 
of  sand,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  talc  or  quartz, 
These  stones  are  almost  invariably  regular  parallelipeds 
of  unequal  sizes  in  the  wall,  but  equally  deep,  and  laid 
regularly  in  ranges  over  each  other  like  bricks,  each 
breaking  and  covering  the  interstice  of  the  two  on  which 
it  rests  5  but  though  the  perpendicular  interstice  be  de- 
stroyed, the  horizontal  one  extends  entirely  through  the 
whole  work :  the  stones  too  are  proportioned  to  the 
thickness  of  the  wall  in  which  they  are  employed,  being 
largest  in  the  thickest  walls*  The  thinner  walls  are 
composed  of  a  single  depth  of  the  parallelipeds,  while 
the  thicker  ones  consist  of  two  or  more  depths :  These 
walls  pass  the  river  at  several  places,  rising  from  the  wa- 
ter's edge  much  above  the  sandstone  cliffs  which  they 
seem  to  penetrate  ;  thence  they  cross  in  a  straight  line 
on  either  side  of  the  river,  the  plains  over  which  they 
tower  to  the  height  of  from  ten  to  seventy  feet,  until  they 
lose  themselves  in  the  second  range  of  hills  :  sometimes 
they  run  parallel  in  several  ranges  near  to  each  other? 
sometimes  intersect  each  other  at  right  angles,  and  have 
*he  appearance  of  walls  of  ancient  houses  or  gardens. 

LEWIS    AND    CLAKKE 


DESCRIPTIVE.  43 

Cascade  of  the  River  Missouri. 

THE  river  immediately  at  its  cascade  is  three  hundred 
yards  wide,  and  is  pressed  in  by  a  perpendicular  cliff  on 
the  left,  which  rises  to  about  one  hundred  feet  and  ex- 
tends up  the  stream  for  a  mile  ;  on  the  right  the  bluff  is 
also  perpendicular  for  three  hundred  yards  above  the  falls, 
For  ninety  or  a  hundred  yards  from  the  left  cliff,  the  wa- 
ter falls  in  one  smooth  even  sheet,  over  a  precipice  of  at 
least  eighty  feet.  The  remaining  part  of  the  river  pre- 
cipitates itself  with  a  more  rapid  current,  but  being  re- 
ceived as  it  falls  by  the  irregular  and  somewhat  project- 
ing rocks  below,  forms  a  splendid  prospect  of  perfectly 
white  foam  two  hundred  yards  in  length,  and  eighty  in 
perpendicular  elevation.  This  spray  is  dissipated  into  a 
thousand  shapes,  sometimes  flying  up  in  columns  of  fif- 
teen or  twenty  feet,  which  are  then  oppressed  by  large 
masses  of  the  white  foam,  on  all  which  the  sun  impresses 
the  brightest  colours  of  the  rainbow.  As  it  rises  from  the 
fall  it  beats  with  fury  against  a  ledge  of  rocks  which  ex- 
tend across  the  river  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards  from 
the  precipice.  From  the  perpendicular  cliff  on  the  north, 
to  the  distance  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  yards,  the 
rocks  rise  only  a  few  feet  above  the  water,  arid  when  the 
river  is  high  the  stream  finds  a  channel  across  them  forty 
yards  wide,  and  near  the  higher  parts  of  the  ledge  which 
then  rise  about  twenty  feet,  and  terminate  abruptly  with- 
in eighty  or  ninety  yards  of  the  southern  side.  Between 
them  and  the  perpendicular  cliff  on  the  south,  the  whole 
body  of  water  runs  with  great  swiftness.  A  few  small 
cedars  grow  near  this  ridge  of  rocks  which  serve  as  a  bar- 
rier to  defend  a  small  plain  of  about  three  acres,  shaded 
with  cotton  wood,  at  the  lower  extremity  of  which  is  a 
grove  of  the  same  tree,  where  are  several  Indian  cabins  of 
sticks  5  below  the  point  of  them  the  river  is  divided  by  a 
large  rock,  several  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  water,  and 
extending  down  the  stream  for  twenty  yards,  At  the 
distance  of  three  hundred  yards  from  the  same  ridge  is  a 
second  abutment  of  solid  perpendicular  rock,  about  sixty 
feet  high,  projecting  at  right  angles  from  the  small  plain 
on  the  north  for  one  hundred  and  thirty  four  jards  into 
the  river.  After  leaving  this,  the  Missouri  again  spreads 
itself  to  its  usual  distance  of  three  hundred  yards,  though 
with  more  than  its  ordinary  rapidity.  Ibid. 


4*  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Manners  and  Customs  of  the  Shoshonee  Indians. 

As  war  is  the  chief  occupation* bravery  is  the  chief 
virtue  among  the  Shoshonees.  None  can  hope  to  be  dis- 
tinguished without  having  given  proofs  of  it,  nor  can  there 
be  any  preferment  or  influence  among  the  nation  with- 
out some  warlike  achievement.  The  important  events 
which  give  reputation  to  a  warrior,  and  which  entitle  him 
to  a  new  name,  are,  killing  a  white  bear,  stealing  individ- 
ually the  horses  of  the  enemy,  leading  out  a  party  who 
happen  to  be  successful  either  in  plundering  horses  or 
destroying  the  enemy,  and  lastly,  scalping  a  warrior; 
These  acts  seem  of  nearly  equal  dignity,  but  the  last,  that 
of  taking  an  enemy's  scalp,  is  an  honour  quite  indepen- 
dent of  the  act  of  vanquishing  him.  To  kill  your  adver- 
sary is  of  no  importance,  unless  the  scalp  is  brought  from 
the  field  of  battle,  and  were  a  warrior  to  slay  any  number 
of  his  enemies  in  action,  and  others  were  to  obtain  the 
scalps  or  first  touch  the  dead,  they  would  have  all  the 
honours,  since  they  have  borne  off  the  trophy. 

The  Shoshonee  warrior  always  fights  on  horseback :  he 
possesses  a  few  bad  guns,  which  are  reserved  exclusively 
for  war,  but  his  common  arms  are  the  bow  and  arrow,  a 
shield,  a  lance  and  a  weapon  called  by  the  Chippaways,by 
whom  it  was  formerly  used,  the  poggamoggon.  The  bow 
is  made  of  cedar  orpine,  covered  on  the  outside  with  sin- 
ews and  glue.  It  is  about  two  and  a  half  feet  long,  and 
does  not  differ  in  shape  from  those  used  by  the  Sioux, 
Mandans  and  Minnetarees.  Sometimes,  however,  the 
bow  is  made  of  a  single  piece  of  the  horn  of  an  elk,  cover- 
ed on  the  back  like  those  of  wood  with  sinews  and  glue, 
and  occasionally  ornamented  by  a  strand  wrought  of  por- 
cupine quills  and  sinews,  which  is  wrapped  round  the 
horn  near  its  two  ends.  The  bows  made  of  the  horns  of 
the  bighorn  are  still  more  prized,  and  are  formed  by  ce- 
menting with  glue  flat  pieces  of  the  horn  together,  cover- 
ing the  back  with  sinews  and  glue,  and  loading  the  whole 
•with  an  unusual  quantity  of  ornaments.  The  arrows  re- 
semble those  of  the  other  Indians,  except  in  being  more 
slender  than  any  we  have  seen.  They  are  contained ? 
\vith  the  implements  for  striking  fire,  in  a  narrow  quiver* 
formed  of  different  kinds  of  skin,  though  thatof  the  otter 
seems  to  be  preferred.  It  is  just  long  enough  to  protect 
ihe  arrows  from  the  weather,  and  is  worn  on  the  back  by 


DESCRIPTIVE.  45 

means  of  a  strap  passing  over  the  right  shoulder  and  un- 
der the  left  arm.  The  shield  is  a  circular  piece  of  buffa- 
lo hide,  about  two  feet  four  or  five  inches  in  Diameter,  or- 
namented with  feathers,  and  a  fringe  round  it  of  dressed 
leather,  and  adorned  or  deformed  with  paintings  of 
strange  figures.  The  buffalo  hide  is  perfectly  proof 
against  any  arrow,  but  in  the  minds  of  the  Shoshonees,  its 
power  to  protect  them  is  chiefly  derived  from  the  virtues 
which  are  communicated  to  it  by  the  old  men  and  jugglers. 
To  make  a  shield  is  indeed  one  of  the  most  important  cer- 
emonies :  it  begins  by  a  feast  to  which  all  the  warriors, 
old  men  and  jugglers  are  invited.  After  the  repast,  a 
hole  is  dug  in  the  ground  about  eighteen  inches  in  depth 
and  of  the  same  diameter  as  the  intended  shield :  into 
this  hole  red  hot  stones  are  thrown,  and  water  thrown 
over  them  till  they  emit  a  very  strong  hot  steam.  The 
buffalo  skin,  which  must  be  the  entire  hide  of  a  male  two 
years  old,  and  never  suffered  to  dry  since  it  was  taken 
from  the  animal,  is  now  laid  across  the  hole  with  the 
flash  Y  side  to  the  ground,  and  stretched  in  every  direc- 
tion by  as  many  as  can  take  hold  of  it.  As  the  skin  be- 
comes heated,  the  hair  separates,  and  is  taken  off  by  the 
hand  5  till  at  last  the  skin  is  contracted  into  the  compass 
designed  for  the  shield.  It  is  then  taken  off  and  placed 
on  a  hide  prepared  into  parchment,  and  then  pounded 
during  the  rest  of  the  festival  by  the  bare  heels  of  those 
\vho  are  invited  to  it.  This  operation  sometimes  contin- 
ues several  days,  after  which  it  is  delivered  to  the  propri- 
etor, and  declared  by  the  old  men  and  jugglers  to  be  a 
security  against  arrows  ;  and  provided  the  feast  has  been 
satisfactory,  against  even  the  bullets  of  their  enemies. 
Such  is  the  delusion,  that  many  of  the  Indians  implicitly 
believe  that  this  ceremony  has  given  to  the  shield  super- 
natural power,  and  that  they  have  no  longer  to  fear  any 
weapons  of  their  enemies. 

The  poggamoggon  is  an  instrument,  consisting  of  a 
handle  twenty -two  inches  long,  made  of  wood,  covered 
with  dressed  leather,  about  the  size  ofa  whip-handle  :  at 
one  end  is  a  thong  of  ten  inches  in  length  which  is  tied 
to  a  round  stone  weighing  two  pounds  andheld  in  a  cover 
of  leather:  at  the  other  end  is  a  loop  of  the  same  materi- 
al, which  is  passed  round  the  wrist  so  as  to  secure  the 
hold  of  the  instrument,  with  which  they  strike  a  verj 
aevero  blow, 


45  REPUBLICAN  COMPILED. 

Besideg  these,  they  have  a  kind  of  armour,  something 
like  a  coat  of  mail,  which  is  formed  by  a  great  many 
folds  of  dressed  antelope  skins,  united  by  means  of  a 
mixture  of  glue  and  sand.  With  this  they  cover  their 
own  bodies  and  those  of  their  horses,  and  find  it  imper- 
vous  to  the  arrow. 

The  caparison  of  their  horses  is  a  halter  and  a  saddle  : 
the  first  is  either  a  rope  of  six  or  seven  strands  of  buffalo 
hair  platted  or  twisted  together,  about  the  size  of  a  man's 
finger  and  of  great  strength  ;  or  merely  a  thong  of  raw 
hide  made  pliant  by  pounding  or  rubbing;  though  the 
first  kind  is  much  preferred.  The  halter  is  very  long, 
and  is  never  taken  from  the  neck  of  the  horse  when  in 
constant  use.  One  end  of  it  is  first  tied  round  the  neck 
in  a  knot  and  then  brought  down  to  the  under  jaw,  round 
which  it  is  formed  into  a  simple  noose,  passing  through 
the  mouth :  it  is  then  drawn  up  on  the  right  side  and  held 
by  the  rider  in  his  left  hand,  while  the  rest  trails  after 
him  to  some  distance. — At  other  times  the  knot  is  formed 
at  a  little  distance  from  one  of  the  ends,  so  as  to  let  that 
end  serve  as  a  bridle  while  the  other  trails  on  the  ground. 
With  these  cords  dangling  along  side  of  them  the  horse 
Is  put  to  his  full  speed,  without  fear  of  falling,  and  when 
be  is  turned  to  graze,  the  noose  is  merely  talen  from  his 
mouth.  The  saddle  is  formed  like  the  packsaddles 
used  by  the  French  and  Spaniards,  of  two  fiat  thin  boards 
which  fit  the  sides  of  the  horse,  and  are  kept  together 
by  two  cross  pieces,  one  before  and  the  other  behind, 
which  rise  to  a  considerable  height,  ending  sometimes  in 
a  flat  point,  extending  outwards,  and  always  making  the 
saddle  deep  and  narrow.  Under  this  a  piece  of  buffalo 
akin,  with  the  hair  on,  is  placed,  so  as  to  prevent  the  rub- 
bing of  the  boards,  and  when  theylnount,  they  throw  a 
piece  of  skin  or  robe  over  the  saddle,  which  has  no  per- 
manent cover.  When  stirrups  are  used,  they  consist  of 
wood  covered  with  leather;  but  stirrups  and  saddles  are 
conveniences  reserved  for  old  men  and  women.  The 
young  warriors  rarely  use  any,  except  a  small  leather  puff 
stuffed  with  hair,  and  secured  by  a  girth  made  of  a  leather 
thong.  In  this  way  they  ride  with  great  expertness,  and 
they  have  a  particular  dexterity  in  catching  the  horse 
when  he  is  running  at  large.  It  he  will  not  immediately 
submit  when  they  wish  to  take  him,  they  make  a  noose  in 
the  rope,  and  although  the  horse  may  be  at  a  distance^  cr 


DESCRIPTIVE,  47 

even  running,  rarely  fail  to  fix  it  on  his  neck ;  and  such 
is  the  docility  of  the  animal,  that  however  unruly  he  may 
seem,  he  surrenders  as  soon  as  he  feels  the  rope  on  him. 
This  cord  is  so  useful  in  this  way.  that  it  is  never  dispens- 
ed with,  even  when  they  use  the  Spanish  bridle,  which 
they  prefer,  and  always  procure  when  they  have  it  in  their 
power.  The  horse  becomes  almost  an  object  of  attach- 
ment: a  favourite  is  frequently  painted  and  his  ears  cut 
into  various  shapes :  the  mane  and  tail,  which  are  never 
drawn  nor  trimmed,  are  decorated  with  f eath ers  of  birds s 
and  sometimes  a  warrior  suspends  at  the  breast  of  his 
horse  the  finest  ornaments  he  possesses. 

Thus  armed  and  mounted,  the  Shoshonee  is  a  formida 
ble  enemy,  even  with  the  feeble  weapons  which  he  is 
still  obliged  to  use.  When  they  attack  at  full  speed,  they 
lean  forward  and  cover  their  bodies  with  the  shield, 
while  with  the  right  hand  they  shoot  under  the  horse's 
neck.  Ibid. 


Description  and  romanii c  appearance  of  the  Missouri  at 
the  junction  of  the  Medicine  river, 

THE  Missouri  is  three  hundred  yards  wide  at  the  point 
where  it  receives  the  waters  of  the  Medicine  river, 
which  is  one  hundred  and  thirty -seven  yards  in  width. 
The  united  current  continues  three  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  poles  to  a  small  rapid  on  the  north  side,  from  which 
it  gradually  widens  to  one  thousand  lour  hundred  yards, 
and  at  the  distance  of  five  hundred  and  forty-eight  poles 
reaches  the  head  of  the  rapids  narrowing  as  it  approaches 
them.  Here  the  hills  on  the  north,  which  had  withdrawn 
from  the  bank  closely  border  the  river,  which,  for  the 
space  of  three  hundred  and  twenty  poles,  makes  its  way 
over  the  rocks  with  a  descent  of  thirty  feet:  in  this 
course  the  current  is  contracted  to  five  hundred  and 
eighty  yards,  and  after  throwing  itself  over  a  small  pitch 
of  five  teet,  forms  a  beautiful  cascade  of  twenty-six  feet 
five  inches ;  this  does  not  however  fall  immediately  per- 
pendicular, being  stopped  by  apart  of  the  rock  which  pro- 
jects at  about  one  third  of  the  distance.  After  descend- 
ing this  fall,  and  passing  the  cottonwood  island  on  which 


4J  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

the  eagle  has  fixed  its  nest,  the  river  goes  on  for  five 
hundred  and  thirty -two  poles  over  rapids  and  little  falls, 
the  estimated  descent  of  which  is  thirteen  feet  six  inches., 
till  it  is  joined  by  a  large  fountain,  boiling  up  underneath 
the  rocks  near  the  edge  of  the  river,  into  \vhich  it  falls, 
•with  a  cascade  of  eight  feet.  It  is  of  the  most  perfect 
clearness,  and  rather  of  a  bluish  cast:  and  even  after  fall- 
ing into  the  Missouri  it  preserves  its  colour  for  half  a 
mile.  From  this  fountain,  the  river  decends  with  in- 
creased rapidity  for  the  distance  of  two  hundred  and 
fourteen  poles,  duringwhich  the  estimated  descent  is  five 
feet,  from  this  for  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  poles,  the  river  descends  fourteen  feet  seven  inches, 
including  a  perpendicular  fall  of  six  feet  seven  inches, 
The  river  has  now  become  pressed  into  a  space  of  four 
hundred  and  seventy -tlr/ee  yards,  and  here  forms  a  grand 
cataract,  by  falling  over  a  plain  rock  the  whole  distance 
across  the  river,  to  the  depth  of  forty-seven  feet  eight 
inches  :  after  recovering  itself,  the  Missouri  then  proceeds 
v/ith  an  estimated  descent  of  three  feet,  till,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  one  hundred  and  two  poles,  it  again  is  precipitat- 
ed down  the  crooked  falls  of  nineteen  feet  perpendicu- 
lar ;  below  this,  at  the  mouth  of  a  deep  ravine,  is  a  fall  of 
five  feet,  after  which,  for  the  distance  of  nine  hundred 
and  seventy  poles,  the  descent  is  much  more  gradual,  not 
being  more  than  ten  feet,  and  then  succeeds  a  handsome 
level  plain,  for  the  space  of  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
eight  pole?,  with  a  computed  descent  of  three  feet,  mak- 
ing a  bend  towards  the  north.  Thence  it  descends  dur- 
ing four  hundred  and  eighty  poles,  about  eighteen  poles 
and  half,  when  it  makes  a  perpendicular  fall  of  two  feet, 
which  is  ninety  poles  beyond  the  great  cataract,  in  ap- 
proaching which,  it  descends  thirteen  feet  within  two 
hundred  yards,  and  gathering  strength  from  its  confined 
channel,  which  is  only  two  hundred  and  eighty  yards 
wide,  rushes  over  the  fall  to  the  depth  of  eighty -seven 
feet  and  three  quarters  of  an  inch.  After  raging  among 
the  rocks  or  losing  itself  in  foam,  it  is  compressed  imme- 
diately into  a  bed  of  ninety  three  yards  in  width :  it  con- 
tinues for  three  hundred  and  forty  "poles,  to  the  entrance 
of  a  run  or  deep  ravine,  where  there  is  a  fall  of  three  fee*, 
which,  joined  to  the  decline  of  the  river  during  that 
course,  makes  the  descent  six  feet.  As  it  goes  on,  the 
descent  within  the  next  two  hundred  and  forty  poles  is 


DESCRIPT1V1 


only  four  feet ;  from  this  passing  a  run  or  deep  :; 
the"dcscent  for  four  hundred  poles  is  thirteen  feet ;  wit 
hi  two  hundred  arid   forty  poles  a  second   descent  o* 
eighteen  feet ;  thence  one  hundred  and  sixty  poles  a  t 
scent  of  six  feet;  .after  which  to  the  mouth   of  Portage 
creek,  a  distance  of  two  hundred  and  eighty  poles  the  de- 
scent is  ten  feet.   From  this  survey  and  estimate  it  results 
that  the  river  experiences  a  descent  of  three  hundred  ant! 
fifty-two   feet  in  the  course  of  two  and  three  quarter 
miles,  from  the  commencement  of  the  rapids  to  the  mouth 
of  Portage  creek,  exclusive  of  the  almost  impassable  ra- 
pids which  extend  for  a  mile  below  its  entrance.  Ibid. 


Description  of  the  canoes  us?d  by  the  Indians  on  the  Col- 
umbia river  and  their  dexterity  in  the  management  of 
them. 

THE  canoes  most  used  by  the  Columbia  Indians,  from 
the  Chitlucksttequaws  inclusive,  to  the  ocean,  are 
about  thirty  or  thirty-five  feet  long.  The  bow,  which 
looks  more  like  the  stern  of  our  boats,  is  higher  than  the 
other  end,  and  is  ornamented  with  a  sort  of  comb,  an 
inch  in  thickness,  cut  out  of  the  same  log  which  forms  the 
canoe,  and  extending  nine  or  eleven  inches  from  the  bow- 
sprit to  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  The  stern  is  nearly 
rounded  off,  and  gradually  ascends  to  a  point.  This  canor 
is  very  light  and  convenient ;  for  though  it  will  contain 
ten  or  twelve  persons,  it  may  be  carried  with  great  ease 
by  four. 

The  largest  species  of  canoes  are  upwards  of  fifty  feet 
long,  and  will  carry  from  eight  to  ten  thousand  pound? 
weight,  or  from  twentv  to  thirty  persons.  They  are  cut 
out  of  a  single  trunk  of  a  tree,  which  is  generally  a  cedar, 
though  fir  is  sometimes  used.  The  sides  are  secured  by- 
cross-bars  or  round  sticks,  two  or  three  inches-Jn  thick 
ness,  which  are  inserted  through  holes  madejustbelow  the 
gunwale  and  made  fast  with  cords.  The  upper  eilgo  of  the 
gunwale  itself  is  about  five-eights  of  an  inch  thick,  and  four 
or  five  in  breadth,  and  folds  outwards,  so  as  to  form  a  kind 
of  rim,  which  prevents  the  water  from  beating  into  the  boat. 
f>  n  bow  and  stern  ure  about  the  same  height,  and  each  pro- 
E 


50.  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

vided  with  a  comb,  reaching  to  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  At 
the  end,  also,  are  pedestals,  formed  of  the  same  solid  piece, 
on  which  are  placed  strange  grotesque  figures  of  men  or 
animals,  rising  sometimes  to  the  height  of  five  feet,  and 
composed  of  small  pieces  of  wood,  firmly  united  with 
great  ingenuity,  by  inlaying  and  mortising,  without  a 
spike  of  any  kind.  The  paddle  is  usually  from  four  feet 
and  a  half  to  five  feet  in  length  5  the  handle  being  thick 
for  one  third  of  its  length,  when  it  widens,  and  is  hollow- 
ed and  thinned  on  each  side  of  the  centre,  which  forms 
a  sort  of  rib.  When  they  embark,  one  Indian  sits  on  the 
stern,  and  steers  with  a  paddle,  the  others  kneel  in  pairs 
In  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  and  sitting  on  their  heels, 
paddle  over  the  gunwale  next  to  them.  In  this  way  they 
ride  in  perfect  safety  the  highest  waves,  and  venture  with- 
out the  least  concern  in  seas,  where  other  boats  or  sea- 
men could  not  live  an  instant.  They  sit  quietly  and 
paddle,  with  no  other  movement;  except  when  any  large 
\vave  throws  the  boat  on  her  side,  and  to  the  eye  of  a 
spectator,  she  seems  lost :  the  man  to  windward  then  stea- 
dies her,  by  throwing  his  body  towards  the  upper  side, 
and  sinking  his  paddle  deep  into  the  wave,  appears  to 
catch  the  water  and  force  it  under  the  boat,  which  the 
same  stroke  pushes  on  with  great  velocity.  In  the  man- 
agement of  these  canoes,  the  women  are  equally  expert 
with  the  men;  for  in  the  smaller  boats,  which  contain 
four  oarsmen,  the  helm  is  generally  given  to  the  female, 
As  soon  as  they  Iand5  the  canoe  is  generally  hauled  on 
shore,  unless  she  be  very  heavily  laden  ;  but  at  night  the 
boat  is  universally  discharged,  and  the  canoe  brought  on 
vhorer  Ibid, 


Singular  customs  of  the  inhabitants  of  Chili  on  the  Fa* 
cific  ocean. 

AT  all  their  dinner  entertainments,  the  principal  guest 
9  placed  at  the  head  of  the  table,  the  host  on  one  side  of 
\im,  and  the  hostess  on  the  other ;  and  their  principal  busi- 
ness appears  to  be,  to  cram  him  with  a  part  of  every  thin£ 
before  him.     This  duty  they  are  apt  to  perform  most  ef 
,  if  he  happens,  like  me,  to  be  a  stranger,  and 


DESCRIPTIVE.  51 

not  aware  of  the  variety  of  changes  that  are  to  be  brought 
on,  each  one  more  and  more  inviting  in  their  appearance 
and  taste. 

There  is  another  practice  at  their  balls  or  evening  par- 
ties, which  at  first  gave  me  some  embarrassment.  A  very 
large  silver  dish,  filled  with  sweet  jelly,  was  presented  to 
me  by  a  servant,  as  well  as  a  silver  plate  and  fork;  be- 
lieving that  the  whole  dish  could  not  be  intended  for  me,  I 
attempted  to  take  the  plate ;  this  the  servant  objected  to  ; 
I  then  attempted  to  take  the  dish,  but  to  this  she  also  ob- 
jected. I  felt,  however,  certain  that  it  was  intended  for 
me  to  eat  in  some  way  or  other,  and  was  determined  to 
do  it  in  that  way  which  appears  the  most  natural  and  con- 
venient;  I  therefore  took  from  her  the  plate  and  fork, 
and  helped  myself  to  as  much  as  1  thought  I  should  want. 
The  eyes  of  all  the  company,  however,  were  on  me,  and 
I  perceived  that  I  had  made  some  mistake,  of  which  I  was 
soon  convinced,  for  the  servant  brought  another  plate 
with  a  fork,  which  was  handed  with  the  sweetmeats 
around  to  the  company,  and  each  one  made  use  of  the 
same  fork  to  take  a  mouthful,  holding  their  heads  care- 
fully over  the  dish  in  order  that  nothing  might  fall  from 
their  mouths  to  the  floor;  the  fork  was  then  laid  on  the 
plate  and  passed  to  the  next.  The  matti  is  taken  with  as 
little  regard  to  delicacy  or  cleanliness.  When  the  cup 
containing  it  is  brought  in,  one  of  the  company  blows  into 
it,  through  the  silver  tube,  until  a  high  froth  is  produced; 
it  is  then  considered  properly  prepared.  The  same 
matti  and  tube  is  then  passed  around  the  room,  and  each 
one  takes  in  turn  a  suck  of  it  with  much  apparent  relish 
and  delight;  but,  considering  the  rotten  teeth  and  un- 
savoury breaths  of  the  Chilians,  there  could  not  be  a  dose 
offered  more  repulsive  to  a  delicate  stomach,  than  this 
same  frothy  matti.  served  up  in  their  style.  It  is  also  a 
practice  for  one  glass  of  water,  one  spoon,  or  one  segar^ 
to  be  served  up  to  the  whole  company,  and  one  would 
almost  be  led  to  believe  that  they  had  a  particular  relish 
for  the  taste  of  each  other's  dirty  mouths. 

Porter's  Journal* 


>*  UEPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Option  of  the  Tortoises  found  in  the  islands  of  the 
Pacific  ocean. 

MANY  of  them  are  of  a  size  to  weigh  upwards  of  three 
hundred  weights  and  nothing,  perhaps,  can  be  more  dis- 
agreeable or  clumsey  than  they  are  in  their  external  ap- 
pearance. Their  motion  strongly  resembles  that  of  the 
elephant;  their  steps  slow,  regular,  and  heavy;  they 
\-irry  their  body  about  a  foot  from  the  ground,  and  their 
legs  and  feet  bear  no  slight  resemblance  to  those  of  the 
animal  to  which  I  have  likened  them;  their  neck  is  from 
eighteen  inches  to  two  feet  in  length,  and  very  slender; 
*he  head  is  proportioned  to  it,  and  strongly  resembles 
that  of  a  serpent;  but,  hideous  and  disgusting  as 
is  their  appearance,  no  animal  can  possibly  afford 
a  more  wholesome,  luscious  and  delicate  food  than  they 
do;  the  finest  green  turtle  is  no  more  to  be  compared  to 
them,  in  point  of  excellence,  than  the  coarsest  beef  is  to 
the  finest  veal.  These  animals  are  so  fat  as  to  require  nei- 
ther butter  nor  lard  to  cook  them,  and  this  fat  does  not  pos- 
sess that  clogging  quality,  common  to  that  of  most  other 
animals  ;  and  when  tried  out,  it  furnishes  an  oil  superior 
In  taste  to  that  of  the  olive.  The  meat  cf  this  animal  is 
the  easiest  of  digestion,  and  a  quantity  of  it  exceeding 
that  of  any  other  food  can  be  eaten  without  experiencing 
the  slightest  inconvenience.  But  what  seems  the  most 
extraordinary  in  this  animal,  is  the  length  of  time  that  it 
can  exist  without  food;  for  I  have  been  well  ensured, 
that  they  have  been  piled  away  among  the  casks  in  the 
hold  of  a  ship,  where  they  have  been  kept  eighteen  months, 
and  when  killed  at  the  expiration  of  that  time,  were 
found  to  have  suffered  no  diminution  in  fatness  or  excel- 
•ence.  They  carry  with  them  a  constant  supply  of  water, 
in  a  bag  situated  at  the  root  of  the  neck,  which  contains 
about  two  gallons;  and  on  tasting  that  found  in  those  we 
killed  on  board,  it  proved  perfectly  fresh  and  sweet.  They 
are  very  restless  when  exposed  to  the  light  and  heat  of 
the  sun,  but  will  lie  in  the  dark  from  one  year's  end  to 
another  without  moving  ;  in  the  day  time  they  appear  re- 
markably quick  sighted  and  timid,  drawing  their  head  in 
their  shell,  on  the  slightest  motion  of  any  object;  but 
they  ar-2  entirely  destitute  of  hearing,  as  the  loudest 
noise,  even  the  firing  of  a  gun,  does  not  seem  to  alarm 
them  in  the  slightest  degree,  and  at  night  or  in  the  dark,, 
•they  appear  to  to  perfectly  blind- 


fcESCIUPTTVE,  ^ 

Falls  of  Niagara, 

WE  crossed  the  Niagara  where  it  issues  from  lake  Erie* 
to  its  western  side,  so  late  in  the  afternoon,  that  we  had, 
at  sun  down,  fourteen  miles  to  ride,  which  at  the  close 
of  a  fatiguing  day's  journey,  was  not  very  desirable  :  but, 
we  had  reason   to   congratulate  ourselves  on  this  very 
circumstance,  as  it  occasioned  our  being  spectators  of  a 
scene  which  travellers  rarely  witness.     The  warm  south- 
ern breeze  which  had  prevailed  during  the  day,  was  now 
succeeded  by  a  keen  northwest  air,  though  without  any 
perceptible  wind,  which  obliged  us  to  ride  wrapped  in  our 
greatcoats.  This  change  intne  weather  produced  the  line 
object  which  soon  after  presented    itself.     The  twilight 
in  this  latitude  is  long  and  bright — and  we  had,  at  the 
distance  of  twelve  miles,  seen  the  top  of  a  column  of  va- 
por, rising  above  the  falls,  still  illuminated  by  the  sun, 
whose  beams  had  been  for  some  time  lost  to  us,     The 
sound  of  the  cataract  was  soon  after  heard,  but  the  cloud 
was  no  longer  in  sight,  owing  to  the  bending  of  the  road, 
and  the  thick   shrubbery  which  bordered  it.     \Ve   had 
continued  to  travel  rapidly  on,  with  no  very  striking  ob- 
ject in  view,  for  more  than  an  hour;  the  farm  houses, 
and  overhanging  trees  on  one  hand,  and  the  river,  full  to 
its  brim,  flowing  silently  forward  on  the  other :  when 
suddenly  turning  an  angle  in  the  road,  the  stream  pre- 
sented itself,  expanding  to  the  breadth  of  two  miles,  and 
stretching  forward   three  times  that  distance,  smooth  a» 
glass,  reflecting  every  star  in  the  deep  blue  concave 
above,  and  terminated  by  an  object  so  grand,  and   even 
awful,  that  our  whole  party  immediately  stopped,  struck 
with  astonishment  and   almost   with  terror.     The  line 
sheet  of  water  before  us  was  lost  in  a  black  cloud,  ex- 
tending quite  across  the  river,  and  rising  to  a  height  with 
which  nothing  in  nature  or  art  can  be  compared,  by  those 
who  have  not  seen  the  Alps  or  Alpine  scenes.     The  cold 
stillness  of  the  night  rendered  the  cloud  so  compact,  that 
it  could  not   be   penetrated  by  the  eye,  but  seemed  a 
column  black  as  night,  reaching  fronj  the  earth  to  the 
heavens,    uniting  with  the  few   dark   clouds   stationed 
above,  and  which,  spreading  to  the  right  and  left,  appear- 
ed to  form  an  overhanging  crown,  for  this  giant  of  the 
waters,    On  each  side  of  this  impenetrable  curtain,  near 


:4  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER 

the  earth,  appeared  the  still  glowing  horizon,  and  hio-he:* 
up,  the  deep  blue  firmament  glittering  with  the  starry 
splendor  of  a  winter  night.  This  scene  was  in  full  view, 
for  an  hour,  as  we  proceeded  on  our  way,  durin^  which 
time,  we  were  frequently  startled  by  a  deception,  which 
I  think  must  have  arisen  from  our  being  entirely  unac- 
customed to  look  at  objects,  whose  dimensions  are  so  far 
beyond  the  limits  of  ordinary  calculation,  and  with  which, 
nothing  within  the  circle  of  our  knowledge,  can  bear  a 
comparison.  Perhaps  it  might  have  been  from  our  sud- 
denly realizing  the  height  of  the  object  before  us — for  it 
would,  for  a  few  moments,  appear  rapidly  approaching, 
We  would  stop  and  call  to  those  of  our  party  who  were 
on  horse  back,  to  witness  this  phenomenon  :  but  to  their 
eyes  the  cloud  was  stationary.  At  another  moment  the 
same  delusion  would  take  place  with  them,  and  they 
would  make  the  same  claim  on  our  attention.  It  was 
now  ten  o'clock,  and  one  can  hardly  witness  a  scene  un- 
connected with  danger,  more  truly  sublime  than  was  be- 
fore us  for  the  last  half  hour  of  our  ride.  The  awful 
majesty  of  this  black  and  massy  column  :  standing,  to 
appearance,  almost  within  our  reach — of  such  vast  diame 
'er,  its  base  upon  the  water,  and  rising  to  an  immeasura- 
ble height,  with  accompaniments  so  appropriate 5  the 
solemn  calm  of  the  atmosphere,  the  sullen  roar  of  the 
Cataract,  and  the  death-like  stillness  of  the  night. 

Port  Folio, 


l&scripiionofa  remarkable  cave  on  the  banks  of  Canada- 
guinnet  creek,  mar  Carlisle,  Pa. 

SOME  seasations  of  awe  were  pretty  generaily  felt  by 
the  party  on  entering  the  cave.  Our  footsteps  were 
echoed  with  a  heavy  dead  reciprocation  of  sound,  and  the 
gleam  of  the  candles  through  the  thick,  moist  air,  gave  a 
pallid  and  melancholy  hue  to  the 'countenances  of  each, 
that,  for  a  few  moments  prevented  us  from  indulging  in 
anything  like  merriment  Feelings  of  this  kind  were, 
however,  soon  dissipated  ;  mirth  and  jollity  quickly  suc- 
ceeded, and  our  scrutiny  was  enlivened  by  the  liveliest 


DESCRIPTIVE.  5£ 

sallies  of  humor,  and  the  brightest  effusions  of  gaiety  and 
wit. 

The  largest  part  of  the  cave  extends  ninety  yards, 
nnd  then  branches  oft"  in  three  directions.  The  passage 
to  the  right  is  broad,  but  low,' and,  from  the  moisture  of 
'.he  stones,  was  very  difficult  of  access.  After  passing 
this  opening,  the  cavt  is  enlarged  to  the  dimensions  of 
Us  first  division,  and  we  were  in  some  places,  able  to 
stand  upright.  A  very  minute  search  was  made  to  see  if 
there  were  any  other  passages  from  this  part,  but  our 
scrutiny  was  unsuccessful.  We  were  incited  to  use 
considerable  pains  in  tins  examination,  from  learning  that 
some  time  before  a  stranger  had  visited  this  curiosity, 
and,  in  one  of  the  compartments  discovered  a  chasm  suf- 
ficiently large  to  admit  the  body  of  a  child,  and,  to  all 
appearance  of  considerable  extent.  Should  we  have 
found  the  opening  we  were  told  he  had  discovered,  we 
would  have  spared  no  labour  to  render  it  accessible,  but 
we  were  disappointed.  One  difficulty  in  our  way  was, 
the  ignorance  wo.  were  under  as  to  the  division  where  the 
stranger  had  noticed  the  opening.  Had  this  been  known 
we  might  have  recognized  it,  but  our  searches  were  direct- 
ed at  random,  and  on  that  account  alone,,  perhaps,  were 
unfortunate.  Ail  we  could  perceive,  was  a  small  round 
hole,  near  the  ground,  not  quite  a  foot  in  diameter,  and 
two  and  a  half  feet  deep,  in  the  solid  stone. 

After  a  very  attentive  and  anxious  investigation,  we 
quitted  this  compartment,  which  is  called  very  elegantly, 
"  the  Devil's  Dining  Room,"  and  proceeded  to  the. cen- 
tre passage.  This"  is  very  narrow,  and,  in  direction, 
somewhat  similar  to  a  winding  stair.  The  ascent  is  steeg 
and  irregular,  and,  after  a  tedious  and  ineffectual  endea- 
vour to  ascertain  its  precise  extent,  we  desisted  from  pur- 
suing it.  It  is  inaccessible  after  proceeding  little  better 
than  nine  yards,  and  ends  in  a  perpendicular  excavation, 
the  height  of  which  we  were  without  the  means  of  deter- 
mining. 

The  left  hand  passage  next  claimed  our  attention.  At 
first  view,  it  seems  to  extend  no  further  than  three  or 
four  feet,  but  it  takes  a  sudden  turn  to  the  right,  and 
would  measure  in  length,  near  thirty  yards,  with  suffi- 
cient breadth  and  height  to  enable  a  boy  to  creep  along  it; 
but,  after  this,  it  becomes  so  narrow  as  not  to  be  penetra- 
ble, except  by  very  diminutive  animals.  The  floor  of 


COMPILER 

this  passage,  owing  to  the  rain  which  had  fallen  for  two 
or  three  days  before,  was  entirely  covered  with  mud  and 
water,  to  the  depth  of  from  one  to  five  inches,  so  that  we 
had  by  no  means,  a  cleanly  appearance  on  issuing  from  it 
About  seven  feet  from  the  entrance  of  this  minor  exc^va- 
tion,  there  are  five  or  six  little  pools  of  water  in  the  r6ck, 
formed  from  drippings  from  its  roof  and  sides,  and  which 
are  sufficiently  large  to  contain  a  quart,  and  a  little  better, 
each.  I  had  the  curiosity  to  taste  this  water,  and  found 
It  not  unpleasant;  filtration  seemed  to  have  deprived  it 
of  any  bad  taste  it  may  have  originally  had.  Many  iit 
Carlisle  are  ignorant  enough  to  think  that  there  are  seve» 
springs  here,  and  a  number  of  curious  tales  were  told  me 
of  the  water  they  contained.  The  slightest  observation 
is  sufficient  to  show,  that  they  are  but  stagnated  pools  of 
water  ;  only^  full  during  wet  weather,  and,  when  not  re- 
plenished with  rain,  sinking  through  the  small  fissures  of 
the  stone,  and  remaining  dry.  As  it  would  require  a  long 
spell  of  dry  weather  to  effect  this  desiccation,  the  vulgar 
find  some  countenance  to  their  conjectures  in  the  holes 
Being  almost  always  full. 

At  the  furthest  extremity  of  this  branch,  I  found,  on  a 
small  projection,  three  bones.  One  seemed  to  be  a  piece 
of  the  thigh  bone,  aud  the  others  of  the  vertebrae,  but 
whether  of  a  brute  or  human  being,  my  knowledge  of  an- 
atomy was  insufficient  to  the  determination.  The  ledge 
on  which  these  bones  were  lying,  was  ten  inches  from  the 
floor,  and  extended  in  length  about  four  feet.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  a  cavity  between  the  ledge  and  the  ceiling, 
six  inches  in  width  ;  but  I  was  unable  to  thrust  my  arni 
farther  in  than  to  the  elbow,  though  it  seemed  to  be  father 
deeper. 

Having  now  given  a  very  close  examination  to  every 
accessible  compartment  of  the  cave,  and  fully  satisfied 
ourselves,  that  no  penetrable  outlet  would  have  been  dis- 
covered had  our  search  continued  for  years,  we  made 
our  exit,  after  having  been  deprived  of  the  light  of  the  sun 
for  two  hours  and  more.  The  change  of  temperature 
•was  so  sudden  and  so  great,  that  most  of  us  dreaded  the 
effects  of  our  excursion  would  terminate  in  troublesome 
•;  eld's— bat  fortunately  all  escaped,  .Ibid, 


DESCRIPTIVE. 
Description  of  the  Lehigh  Water  Gap. 

THE  Lchigh  gap,  in  Lehigh  township,  Northampton 
county, Pennsylvania,  about  seventy  miles  northwest  oi 
Philadelphia,  is  an  opening  in  the  Blue  Ridge,  a  branch  of 
Hie  great  Allegheny  mountains  :  so  called  from  the  river 
Lehigh,  which  winds  its  course  through  this  narrow  pas- 
sage, and,  with  the  steep  heights  on  both  sides,  forms  here 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  prospects  in  the  state.  That 
beautiful  little  river,  which,  in  its  course  through  a  fertile 
country,  receives  numerous  tributary  rivulets,  and  at 
length  empties  into  the  Delaware,  at  Easton,  flows  through 
the  gap,  in  a  gentle,  but  majestic  stream,  deeply  shaded 
by  the  reflection  of  the  impending  mountains. 

*  The  eastern  bank  is  bordered,  for  the  distance  of  about 
a  mile,  by  craggy  cliffs,  towering  to  an  amazing  height, 
and  of  forms  the  most  bigarre,  between  which  wall  of 
rocks  and  the  river,  the  road  winds  along.  Hastening  to 
leave  these  bleak  abodes,  which  seem  to  afford  shelter  tc 
none  but  the  ravenous  beasts  of  the  forest,  the  Lehigh  ap- 
pears eagerly  moving  on  towards  the  fertile  low  lands, 
which  succeed  in  view  of  the  western  bank.  Ascending 
the  eastern  height,  the  traveller  is  amply  rewarded  for  the 
exertion  of  climbing  from  rock  to  rock,  in  scaling  the 
pine  covered  side  ofthe  mountain,  by  the  rich  and  exten- 
sive prospect  which  the  eye  there  commands.  At  his 
feet  the  waters  ofthe  majestic  stream ;  on  the  opposite 
side  a  towering  ridge,  near  the  summit  of  which  appears, 
right  opposite,  emerging  from  the  surrounding  woods,  a 
lonely  pile  of  rocks,  whimsically  styled,  the  DeviFs  Pul- 
pit, which  indignantly  suffers  but  a  few  blasted  pines  to 
shade  its  sullen  brow ;  at  a  distance  an  extensive  country, 
variegated  with  woods  and  farms,  watered  by  the  mean- 
dering Lehigh,  and  ridge  retiring  behind  ridge,  till  lost  iu 
the  faint  tints  ofthe  horizon—all  burst  upon  the  sight, 
and  fill  the  mind  with  sublime  ideas  ofthe  greatness  of 
the  Creator. 

The  shattered  rocks,  thrown. together  in  wild  confusion, 
an'l  the  frequent  layers  of  round  stones,  which  are  found 
in  the  Gap,  have  given  rise  to  the  supposition  that  the 
Lehi|h,  being  obstructed  in  its  course  by  the  Blue  Ridge, 
was  formerly  damned  up  into  a  lake,  which,  at  length, 
bursting^  the  barrier,  formed  the  chasm  now  called  the 
Lehigh  Gap.  Let  the  learned  decide  the  question,  if  of 
importance,  ibid. 


«  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Description  of  a  place  of  Religious  Ceremony  in  the 
Inland  ofNooaheeva  or  Madison's  Island. 

IN  one  of  my  excursions,  I  was  led  to  the  chief  place 
>t  religious  ceremony  of  the  valley.  It  is  situated  high 
up  the  valley  of  the  Havvous,  ami  I  regret  extremely  that 
I  had  it  not  in  niy  power  to  make  a  correct  drawin°-  of  it 
on  the  spot,  as  it  far  exceeds  in  splendour  every  thing  of 
the  kind  described  by  captain  Cook,  or  represented  in 
the  plates  which  accompany  his  voyage.  Jn  a  large  and 
handsome  grove,  formed  of  breacf-fruit,  cocoa-nut  and 
toa  trees,  (the  tree  of  which  the  spear  and  war  clubs  are 
made)  and  a  variety  of  other  trees  with  which  1  am  not 
acquainted,  situated  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  mountain  by 
the  side  of  a  rivulet,  and  on  a  platform  made  after  the 
usual  manner,  is  a  deity  formed  of  hard  stone,  about  the 
common  height  of  a  man,  but  larger  proportioned  «very 
other  way  :  it  is  in  a  squatting  posture,  and  is  not  badly 
executed  ;  his  ears  and  eyes  are  large,  his  mouth  wide,  his 
arms  and  legs  short  and  small,  and,  on  the  whole  is  such 
a  figure  as  a  person  would  expect  to  meet  among  a  people 
where  the  art  of  sculpture  is  ifl  its  infancy.  Arranged 
on  each  side  of  him,  as  well  as  in  the  rear  and  front  are 
several  others,  of  nearly  equal  size,  formed  of  the  wood  of 
the  bread-fruit  tree;  they  are  no  more  perfect  in 'their 
proportions  than  the  other,  and  appear  to  be  made  on  the 
same  model;  probably  they  are  copies,  and  the  stone  god 
may  serve  as  the  model  of  perfection,  for  all  the  sculp- 
tures of  the  Island,  as  their  household  gods,  their  orna- 
ments for  the  handles  of  their  fans,  their  stilts,  and,  in 
fact,  every  representation  of  the  figure  of  a  man,  is  made 
on  the  same  plan.  To  the  right  and  left  of  these  gods  are 
two  obelisks,  formed  very  fancifully  and  neatly  of  bam- 
boos and  the  leaves  of  the  palm  and  cocoa-nut  trees  inter- 
woven, and  the  whole  handsomely  decorated  with  strea- 
mers of  white  cloth,  which  give  them  a  picturesque  and 
elegant  appearance ;  the  obelisks  are  about  thirty  five 
feet  in  height,  and  about  the  base  of  them  were  hung  the 
heads  of  hogs  and  tortoises,  as  I  was  informed,  as  offer- 
ings to  their  gods.  On  the  rhrht  of  this  grove,  distant 
only  a  few  paces,  were,  four  splendid  war  canoes,  furnish- 
ed with  their  outriggers,  and  decorated  with  ornaments 
of  human  hair,  coral  shells,  &c.  with  an  abundance  of 
white  streamers;  their  heads  were  placed  towards  tho 


DESCRIPTIVE. 

mountain,  and  in  the  stern  of  each  was  the  figure  of  a 
man  with  a  paddle  steering,  in  full  dress,  ornamented 
with  plumes,  ear-rings,  made  to  represent  those  formed  of 
whales  teeth,  and  every  other  ornament  of  the  fashion  of 
the  country.     One  of  the  canoes  was  more  splendid  than 
the  others,  and  was  situated  nearer  the  grove.  I  enquired 
who  the  dignified  personage  might  be  who  was  seated  in 
frrer  stern,  and  was  informed  that  this  was  the  priest  who 
had  been  killed  not  long  since  by  the  Huppahs.     The 
stench  here  was  intolerable  from  the  number  of  offerings 
which  had  been  made,  but,  attracted  by  curiosity,  I  went 
to  examine  the  canoes  more  minutely?  and  found  the  bo- 
dies of  two  of  the  Typees,  whom  we  had  killed,  in  a  bloat- 
ed state,  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  one  containing  the 
priest,  and  many  other  human  carcases  with  the  flesh 
still  on  them,  lying  about  the  canoe.     The  other  canoes, 
they  informed  me,  belonged  to  different  warriors  who 
had  been  killed,  or  died  not  long  since.     I  asked  them 
why  they  had  placed  their  effigies  in  the  canoes,  and  also 
why  they  put  the  bodies  of  the  dead  Typees  in  that  of 
the  priest:  they  told  me  (as  Wilson  interpreted)  that 
they  were  going  to  heaven,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to 
get  there  without  canoes.     The  canoe  of  the  priest  being 
larger,  he  was  unable  to  manage  it  himself,  nor  was  it  right 
that  he  should,  he  being  now  a  god  :  they  had  therefore, 
placed  in  it  the  bodies  of  the  Happahs  and  Typees,  who 
had  been  killed   since  his  death,  to  padclle  him  to  the 
place  of  his  destination;  but  he  had  not  been  able  yet  to 
start,  for  the  want  of  a  full  crew,  as  it  would  require  ten 
to  paddle  her,  and  as  yet  they  had  only  procured  eight. 
They  told  me  also,  that  the  taboo,  laid  in  consequence  of 
his  death,  would  continue  until  he  had  started  on  his  voy- 
age, which  he  would  not  be  able  to  do  until  they  had  kil- 
led two  more  of  their  enemies,  and  by  this  means  com- 
pleted his  crew.     I  enquired  if  he  took  any  sea  stock 
with  him  :  they  told  me  he  did,  and  pointing  to  some  red 
hogs  in  an  enclosure,  they  informed  me  that  they  were 
intended  for  him,  as  well  as  a  quantity  of  bread-fruit, 
cocoa-nuts,  &c.  which  would  be  collected  from  the  trees 
in  the  grove.     1  enquired  if  he  had  far  to  go  ;  they  re- 
plied no :  and  pointing  to  a  small  square  stone  enclosure, 
informed  me  that  was  their  heaven,  that   he  .was  to  go 
there 3  this  place  was  tabooed,  they  told  me.,;' for,  every 
one  except  their  priests.  Porter's  Journal  "' 


60  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

* 
Remarkable  Mounds  near  Cahokia. 

1  CROSSED  the  Mississippi  at  St.  Louis,  and  after  pass- 
ing through  the  wood  which  borders  the  river,  about  half 
a  mile  in  width,  entered  on  an  extensive  open  plain.  In 
fifteen  minutes  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of 
mounds,  mostly  of  a  circular  shape,  and  at  a  distance 
resembling  enormous  haystacks  scattered  through  «ri 
meadow.  One  of  the  largest  which  I  ascended,  was 
about  two  hundred  paces  in  circumference  at  the  bottom ; 
the  form  nearly  square,  though  it  had  evidently  under- 
gone considerable  alteration  from  the  washing  of  the 
rains.  The  top  was  level,  with  an  area  sufficient  to  con- 
tain several  hundred  men. 

The  prospect  from  this  mound  is  very  beautiful ;  look- 
ing towards  the  bluffs,  which  are  dimly  seen  at  the  dis- 
tance of  six  or  eight  miles,  the  bottom  at  this  place  being 
very  wide,  I  had  a  level  plain  before  me,  varied  by  islets 
of  wood,  and  a  few  solitary  trees;  to  the  right,  the  prai- 
rie is  bounded  by  the  horizon,  to  the  left,  the  course  of 
the  Cahokia  may  be  distinguished  by  the  margin  of  wood 
upon  its  banks,  and  crossing  the  valley  diagonally,  S.  S. 
W.  Around  me  I  counted  forty-five  mounds,  or  pyra- 
mids, besides  a  great  number  of  small  artificial  eleva- 
tions ;  these  mounds  form  something  more  than  a  semi- 
circle, about  a  mile  in  extent  in  the  open  space  on  the 
river. 

Pursuing  my  walk  along  the  bank  of  the  Cahokia,  I 
passed  eight  others  in  the,  distance  of  three  miles,  before 
I  arrived  at  the  largest  assemblage.  When  I  reached 
the  foot  of  the  principal  mound,  1  was  struck  with  a  de- 
gree of  astonishment  not  unlike  that  which  is  experienc- 
ed in  contemplating  the  Egyptian  pyramids.  What  a 
stupendous  pile  of  earth !  to  heap  up  such  a  mass  must 
have  required  years  and  the  labour  of  thousands. — It 
stands  immediately  on  the  bank  of  the  Cahokia,  and  on 
the  side  next  it,  is  covered  with  lofty  trees.  Were  it  not 
for  the  regularity  and  design  which  it  manifests,  the  cir- 
cumstances of  its  being  on  alluvial  ground,  and  the  other 
jnounds  scattered  around  it,  we  could  hardly  believe  it 
the  work  of  human  hands. — The  shape  is  that  of  a  paral- 
lelogram, standing  from  north  to  south;  on  the  south  side 
there  is  a  broad  apron  or  step,  about  half  way  clown  and 
fr  m  this  another  projects  into  the  plain  about : : 


DESCRIPTIVE.  « 

wide,  which  was  probably  intended  as  an  ascent  to  the 
mound.  By  stepping  round  the  base,  I  computed  the 
circumference  to  be  at  least  ei^ht  hundred  yards,  and 
the  height  of  the  mound  about  ninety  feet.  The  step  or 
apron  has  been  used  as  a  kitchen  garden  by  the  monks  of 
La  Trappe,  settled  near  this,  and  the  top  is  sowed  with 
wheat.  Nearly  west  there  is  another  of  a  smaller  size, 
and  forty  others  scattered  through  the  plain.  Two  are 
also  seen  on  the  bluff,  at  the  distance  of  three  miles. 
Several  of  these  mounds  are  almost  conical.  As  the 
sward  had  been  burnt,  the  earth  was  perfectly  naked, 
and  I  could  trace  with  ease,  any  uneveness  of  surface,  so 
us  to  discover  whether  it  was  artificial  or  accidental.  I 
overy  where  observed  a  great  number  of  small  eleva 
lions  of  earth,  to  the  height  of  a  few  feet,  at  regular  dis- 
tances from  each  other,  and  which  appeared  to  observe 
£ome  order ;  near  them  I  also  observed  pieces  of  flint, 
and  fragments  of  earthen  vessels,  I  concluded  that  a  very 
populous  town  had  once  existed  here,  similar  to  those  ol 
Mexico,  described  by  the  first  conquerors.  The  mounds 
were  sites  of  temples,  or  monuments  to  the  great  men. 
JBrackenridge')s  Views  of  Louisiana, 


Warlike  Weapons  of  the  natives  of  JVooakeeva  or 
son's  Island,  in  the  Pacific  ocean,  and  their  mode  of 
fighting. 

THEIR  general  mode  of  fighting  consists  in  constant 
skirmishing.  The  adverse  parties  assemble  on  the  brows 
of  opposite  hills,  having  a  plain  between  them.  One  or 
two  dressed  out  in  all  their  finery,  richly  decorated  with 
shells,  tufts  of  hair,  ear  ornaments,  &c.  &c.  advance, 
dancing  up  to  the  opposite  party,  amid  a  shower  of  spears 
and  stones  (which  they  avoid  with  great  dexterity)  and 
daring  the  other  to  single  combat:  they  are  soon  pur- 
sued by  a  greater  number,  who  are  in  turn  driven  back ; 
and  if  in  their  retreat,  they  should  chance  to  be  knocked 
over  with  a  stone,  they  are  instantly  despatched  with 
spears  and  war  clubs,  and  carried  off  in  triumph.  They 
have  two  descriptions  of  spears  which  they  use  in  their 
warfare :  those  by  which  they  set  the  most  store,  are  about 
F 


C.  EEi'UBLICAN  COMPILER, 

fourteen  feet  in  length,  made  of  a  hard  and  black  wood 
called  toa,  which  receives  a  polish  equal  to  ivory :  these 
are  made  with  much  neatness,  and  are  never  thrown  from 
the  hand  :  the  other  kind  are  smaller,  of  a  light  kind  of 
wood,  and  are  thrown  with  much  accuracy  to  a  great  dis- 
tance. At  certain  distances,  from  their  points,  they  are 
pierced  with  holes  all  round,  in  order  that  they  may  break 
off  with  their  own  weight,  on  entering  a  body ,  and  then  be 
more  difficult  to  extract.  Their  strings  are  made  of  the 
fibres  of  the  bark  of  the  cocoa-nut  tree,  and  are  executed 
v/ith  a  degree  of  neatness  and  skill  not  to  be  excelled. 
The  stones  thrown  from  them,  are  of  an  oval  shape,  of 
about  half  a  pound  weight,  and  are  all  highly  polished, 
by  rubbing  against  the  bark  of  a  tree ;  they  are  woru  in 
a  net,  suspended  about  the  waist,  and  are  thrown  with 
such  a  degree  of  velocity  and  accuracy,  as  to  render 
them  almost  equal  to  musketry — wherever  they  strike 
they  produce  effect;  and  the  numerous  scars,  broken 
limbs,  and  fractured  skulls  of  the  natives,  prove  that, 
notwithstanding  their  dexterity  in  avoiding  those  mis- 
siles, they  are  used  with  much  effect.  It  is  no  uncom- 
mon thing  to  see  a  warrior  bearing  about  him  the  wounds 
of  many  spears,  some  of  which  have  transfixed  his  body  5 
some  bear  several  wounds  occasioned  by  stones  $  and  I 
have  seen  several  with  their  skulls  so  indented,  as  that 
the  whole  hand  might  have  been  laid  in  the  cavity,  and 
yet  the  wounds  were  perfectly  healed,  and  appeared  to 
give  no  pain.  Porter's  Journal. 


NAHRATIVK 


&etraordinary  Ferocity  of  Alligators. 

MY  apprehensions  were  highly  alarmed,  after  being  a 
spectator  of  so  dfteadful  a  battle;  (between  two  large  al- 
ligators) it  was  obvious  that  every  delay  would  but  tend 
to  increase  my  dangers  and  difficulties,  as  the  sun  was 
near  setting,  and  the  alligators  gathered  around  my 
harbour  from  all  quarters :  from  these  considerations,  I 
concluded  to  be  expeditious  in  rny  trip  to  the  lagoon,  in 
order  to  take  some  fish.  Not  thinking  it  prudent  to  take 
my  fusee  with  me,  lest  I  might  lose  it  overboard  in  case 
of  a  battle,  which  I  had  every  reason  to  dread  before  my 
return.  I  therefore  furnished  myself  with  a  club  for  my 
defence,  went  on  board,  and  penetrating  the  first  line  of 
those  which  surrounded  my  harbour,  they  gave  way ;  but 
being  pursued  by  several  very  large  ones,  i  kept  strictly 
on  the*  watch,  and  paddled  with  all  my  might  towards  the 
entrance  of  the  lagoon,  hoping  to  be  sheltered  there  from 
the  multitude  of  my  assailants ;  but  ere  I  had  half-way 
reached  the  place,  1  was  attacked  on  all  sides,  several 
endeavouring  to' overset  the  canoe.  My  situation  now 
became  precarious  to  the  last  degree :  two  very  large 
ones  attacked  me  closely,  at  the  same  instant,  rushing  up 
with  their  heads  and  part  of  their  bodies  above  the  wa- 
ter, roaring  terribly,  and  belching  floods  of  water  over 
me.  They  struck  their  jaws  together  so  close  to  my 
ears,  as  almost  to  stun  me,  and  I  expected  every  mo- 
ment to  be  dragged  out  cf  the  boat,  and  instantly  devour- 


64  IlEPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

ed;  but  I  applied  1113'  weapons  so  effectually  about  me, 
though  at  random,  that  1  was  so  successful  as  to  beat 
them  oft* a  little:  when  finding  that  they  designed  to  re- 
new the  battle,  I  made  for  the  shore,  as  the  only  means 
left  me  for  my  preservation ;  for,  by  keeping  close  to  it, 
1  should  have  my  enemies  on  one  side  of  me  only,  where- 
as, I  was  before  surrounded  by  them;  and  there  was  a 
probability,  if  pushed  to  the  last  extremity,  of  saving  my- 
self by  jumping  out  of  the  canoe  on  the  shore,  as  it  is 
easy  to  outwalk  them  by  land,  although  comparatively 
as  swift  as  lightning  in  the  water.  1  found  this  last 
expedient  alone  could  fully  answer  my  expectations,  for 
as  soon  as  I  gained  the  shore,  they  drew  off,  and  kept 
aloof.  This  was  a  happy  relief,  as  my  confidence  was, 
in  some  degree,  recovered  by  it.  On  recollecting  myself, 
I  discovered  that  I  had  almost  reached  the  entrance  of 
the  lagoon,  and  determined  to  venture  in,  if  possible,  to 
fake  a  few  fish,  and  then  return  to  my  harbour,  while 
clay -light  continued  ;  for  I  could  now,  with  caution  and 
resolution,  make  my  way  with  safety  .along  shore,  and 
indeed  there  was  no  other  way  to  regain  my  camp,  with- 
out leaving  my  boat,  and  mailing  my  retreat  among  the 
marshes  and  reeds,  which,  if  I  could  e*ren  effect,  would 
have  been  in  a  manner  throwing  myself  away,  for  then 
there  would  have  been  no  hopes  of  ever  recovering  my 
bark  5  and  returning  in  safety  to  any  settlements  of  men. 
I  accordingly  proceeded,  and  made  good  my  entrance 
into  the  lagoon,  though  not  without  opposition  from  the 
alligators,  who  formed  a  line  across  the  entrance,  but  did 
not  pursue  me  into  it,  nor  was  I  molested  by  any  there, 
though  there  were  some  very  large  ones  in  a  cove  at 
the  upper  end.  I  soon  caught  more  trout  than  I  had  pres- 
ent occasion  for,  and  the  air  was  too  hot  and  sultry  to 
admit  of  their  being  kept  for  many  hours,  even  though 
salted  or  barbecued.  1  now  prepared  for  my  return  to 
camp,  which  I  succeeded  in  with  but  little  trouble,  by 
kceping  close  to  the  shore;  yet,  1  was  opposed  upon  re- 
entering  the  river  out  of  the  lagoon,  and  pursued  near  to 
my  landing,  (though  not  closely  attacked,)  particularly 
by  an  old  daring  one,  about  twelve  feet  in  length,  who 
kept  close  after  me,  and  when  I  stepped  on  shore,  awl 
turned  about,  in  order  to  draw  up  my  carioc,  he  rushed 
up  near  my  feet,  and  lay  there  ror  some  time,  looking 
me  in  the  face,  his  head  and  shoulders  oit  of  water;  1 


KAURATIVE.  fc>' 

resolved  he  should  pay  for  his  temerity,  and  having  a 
heavy  load  in  my  fusee,  I  ran  to  my  camp,  and  returning 
with  my  piece,  tound  him  with  his'foot  on  the  gunwale  of 
the  boat,  in  searcli  of  fish;  on  my  coming  up,  he  with- 
drew, slowly  and  sullenly  into  the  water,  but  soon  re- 
turned, and  placed  himself  in  his  former  position,  look- 
ing at  me,  and  seeming  neither  fearful  nor  any  way  dis- 
turbed. I  soon  despatched  him,  by  lodging  the  contents 
of  my  gun-  in  his  head,  and  then  proceeded  to  cleanse  and 
prepare  my  fish  for  supper ;  and  accordingly  took  them 
out  of  the  boat,  laid  them  down  on  the  sand,  close  to  the 
water,  and  began  to  scale  them  :  when,  raising  my  head, 
I  saw  before  me,  through  the  clear  water,  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  a  very  large  alligator,  moving  slowly  to- 
wards me :  I  instantly  stepped  back,  when,  with  a  sweep 
of  his  tail,  he  brushed  off  several  of  my  fish.  It  was 
certainly  most  providential  that  I  looked  up  at  that  in- 
stant, as  the  monster  would  probably,  in  less  than  a  min- 
ute, have  seized  and  dragged  me  into  the  river. 

BartTa-m's  Trv  rds. 


Generous  disposition  of  the  Rattlesnake. 

WHEN  on  the  coasfc  of  Georgia,  I  consented,  %v 
few  friends,  to  make  a  party  of  amusement,  at  fishing 
and  fowling,  on  Sapello,  one  of  the  seacoast  islands  :  we 
accordingly  descended  the  Alatainaha,  crossed  the  sound- 
and  landed  on  the  north  end  of  the  island,  nfear  the  in- 
let, fixing  our  encampment  at  a  pleasant  situation,  under 
the  shade  of  a  grove  of  live  oaks  arid  laurels,  <m  the  high 
banks  of  a  creek,  which  we  ascended,  winding  through  a 
salt-marsh,  which  had  its  source  from  a  swamp  and  sa- 
vanna in  the  island :  our  situation  elevated  and  open, 
commanded  a  comprehensive  landscape ;  the  great  ocean* 
the  foaming  surf  breaking  on  the  sandy  beach,  the 
y  breakers  on  the  bar,  the  endless  chain  of  islands, 
checkered  sound  and  high  continent,  all  appearing  be- 
fore us.  The  diverting  toils  of  the  day  were  not  fruit- 
less, affording  us  opportunities  of  furnishing  ourselves 
plentifully  with  a  variety  of  game,  fish  and  oysters,  fcr 
our  supper. 


66  REPUBLICAN  COMPILED. 

About  two  hundred  yards  from  our  camp,  was  a  coo* 
spring  amidst  a  grove  of  the  odoriferous  myrica;  the 
•winding  path  to  this  salubrious  fountain,  led  through  a 
grassy  savanna;  I  visited  the  spring  several  times  in  the 
night,  but  little  did  I  know,  or  any  of  my  careless  drow- 
sy companions,  that  every  time  we  visited  the  fountain, 
v/e  were  in  eminent  danger,  as  I  am  going  to  relate : — 
early  in  the  morning,  excited  by  unconquerable  thirst,  I 
arose  and  went  to  the  spring,  and  having,  thoughtless  oi 
danger,  nearly  half  past  the  dewy  vale,  along  the  serpen- 
tine footpath,  my  hasty  steps  were  suddenly  stopped  by 
the  si^ht  of  a  hideous  serpent,  the  formidable  rattlesnake, 
in  a  high  spiral  coil,  forming  a  circular  mound,  half  the 
height  of  my  knees,  within  six  inches  of  the  narrow  path; 
as  SOOR  as  I  recovered  my  senses  and  strength  from  so 
sudden  a  surprise,  I  started  back  out  of  his  reach,  where 
I  stood  to  view  him :  he  lay  quiet  whilst  I  surveyed  him,, 
appearing  no  way  surprised  or  disturbed,  but  kept  his 
half-shut  eyes  fixed  on  me;  my  imagination  and  spirits 
were  in  a  tumult,  almost  equally  divided  between  thanks- 
giving to  the  Supreme  Creator  and  Preserver,  and  the  dig- 
nified nature  of  the  generous,  though  terrible  creature, 
who  had  suffered  us  all  to  pass  many-times  by  him  during 
the  night,  without  injuring  us  in  the  least,  although  we 
must  have  touched  him,  or  our  steps  guarded  therefrom  by 
a  Supreme  Guardian  Spirit:  I  hastened  back  to  acquaint 
rny  associates,  but  with  a  determination  to  protect  *he  life. 
of  the  generous  serpent :  I  presently  brought  my  compan- 
ions to  the  place,  who  were,  beyond  expression,  surpris- 
ed and  terrified  at  the  sight  of  the  animal,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment, acknowledged  their  escape  from  destruction  to  be 
rxiiraeulous;  and  I  am  proud  to  assert,  that  all  of  us,  ex- 
cept one  person,  agreed  to  let  him  lay  undisturbed,  and 
that  person,  at  length,  was  prevailed  upon  to  suffer  him 
to  escape.  ^Bartram's  Travels*. 


Battle  of  Brandywine. 

HAVING  drawn  together  his  forces,  general  Washing 
ton  marched  to  meet' the  enemy,  who  from  the  head  ui 
Elk  was  divectinghw  course  to  Philadelphia,  As  it  ha< 


NAHRAtlVB.  67 

been  given  out  by  $ie  disaffected,  that  \ve  were  much 
weaker  than  in  truth  we  were,  the  General  thought  it 
best  to  show  both  whigs  and  tories  the  real  strength  he 
possessed;  and  in  this  view,  took  his  route  through  the 
city,  bellorum  maxima  merces,or  at  least,  the  great  object 
of  the  campaign,  and  the  point,  which  if  gained,  would  in 
the  opinion  of  Mr.  Galloway,  be  decisive  of  the  contest. 

The  impression  made  by  this  review  of  the  American 
army,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  was  rather  favourable  than 
otherwise  from  the  propensity  of  persons  un accustomed 
to  the  sight  of  large  bodies  of  men  to  augment  them.  But 
it  was  very  disproportioned  to  the  zeal  for  liberty,  which 
had  been  manifested  the  year  before.  It  amounted  to 
but  about  eight  or  nine  thousand  men,  according  to  Mr. 
Marshall;  but  these,  though  indifferently  dressed,  held 
well  burnished  arms,  and  carried  them  like  soldiers,  and 
looked,  in  short,  as  if  they  might  have  faced  an  equal 
number  with  a  reasonable  prospect  of  success. 

The  action  which  ensued  at  Brandywine.  on  the 
eleventh  of  September,  is  an  instance,  among  many  others 
furnished  by  history,  both  of  the  temptation  to  dispute 
the  passage "of  a  river  by  fronting  the  enemy  on  the  op- 
posite side,  and  of  the  inefficacy  of  such  attempts.  The 
difficulty  and  ineligibility  of  tfiese  undertakings  are  no- 
ticed by  most  of  the  writers  on  the  art  of  war,  and  par- 
ticularly by  the  Marquis  Be  Feuqueres.  To  a  person  of 
any  military  experience,  who  reflects  how  easy  it  must  be, 
to  distract  the  opposing  army  by  fallacious  demonstra- 
tions, in  a  situation  at  once  concealed  from  observation, 
and  exempted  from  the  peril  which  results  from  move- 
ments in  the  face  of  an  adversary,  in  a  state  to  profit  try 
them,  the  little  chance  of  succeeding  in  the  effort,  on  a 
merely  defensive  plan,  must  be  apparent.  "Where,  in- 
deed, the  defending-  general  shall  permit  himself  to  be- 
come the  assailant,  if  occasion  should  offerr  he,  in  some 
degree,  balances  advantages;  and  the  conception  of  gen- 
eral Washington,  as  mentioned  by  Mr.  Marshall,  of  cross- 
ing at  the  lower  ford  to  attack  the  enemy 's  ri«ht  under 
Knyphausen,  was  masterly;  and  might,  if  rapidly  put  in 
execution,  have  handsomely  turned  the  tables.  It  can 
hardly  be  doubted,  however,  that  a  position  on  the  ene- 
my's flank  to  the  westward,  would  have  been  more  eligi- 
ble than  taken  in  front ;  and  that  the  means  of  annoying 
and  possibly  crippling  him  on  his  march,  which  was  all 


<»  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

that  could  reasonably  be  looked  for  from  an  army  so  in- 
ferior as  ours,  might  have  offered  at  this  river  or  at 
Schuylkill.  This  was  probably,  atone  time  contemplat- 
ed, under  the  recommendation,  as  it  was  said,  of  general 
Green.  But  the  public  clamor  required  that  a  battle 
should  be  risked  for  the  city  ;  and  I  well  remember  that 
it  was  given  out  at  Reading,  on  the  suggestion  of  general 
Mifflin,  that  Green,  of  whom  he  was  no  friend,  was  jeal- 
ous of  southern  influence,  and  therefore  indifferent  to 
the  fate  of  Philadelphia.  But  if  Green  really  advised  the 
measure  attributed  to  him,  thereby  securing  the  open 
country  to  our  army  in  case  of  disaster,  in  preference  to 
the  plan  adopted,  and  which,  in  addition  to  its  other  faults, 
tended  to  place  us  in  the  nook  formed  by  the  course 
of  the  Delaware,  I  cannot  but  say,  that,  whatever  were 
his  motives,  and  we  have  no  ground  to  presume  them  bad, 
he  was  right.  Yet,  if  congress  required  that  the  enemy 
should  be  fought,  and  we  have  good  authority  that  they 
did  require  it,  the  opportunity  of  bringing  him  to  action,  in 
any  other  mode  than  that  of  placing  ourselves  directly 
in  his  way,  might  have  been  lost. 

But  why  so  much  caution,  it  may  be  asked,  against  a 
foe  in  the  very  heart  of  the  country  ?  Why  not  rather 
turn  out  en  masse,  surround,  and  mate  a  breakfast  of  MJV 
Howe,  and  his  mercenaries  ?  Could  not  a  population  of 
two  millions  of  souls,  have  furnished  fighting  whigs 
enough  for  the  purpose  ?  Where  were  the  multitudes 
which  used  to  appear  in  arms  on  the  commons  of  Phila- 
delphia ?  Where  the  legions  of  New-England  men,  that 
hemmed  in  Gage  at  Boston  ?  Where,  in  short,  the  hund- 
red and  fifty  thousand  men  in  arms  throughout  the  con- 
tinent spoken  of  by  general  Lee,*  and  others  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  contest  ?  Where  were  the  Pennsylvania 
riflemen,  those  formidable,  unerring  marks-men,  each  of 
whom,  could  venture  to  put  a  ball  in  a  target  held  by  his 
brother  ?  How  came  it,  that  that  excellent  jest  of  a  Bri- 
tish dragoon  pursuing  one  of  them  round  a  tree,  was  not 
exemplified  on  this  occasion  ?  These  things  promised 
well  ;  they  were  flattering  in  the  extreme,  and  admirably 
calculated  to  buoy  us  up  in  a  confidence  of  the  martial 

*  Not  less  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  gentlemen,    yc  a 
tod  formers  are  in  arms,  determined  to  preserve  their  liberties  cv 
JLttter  fivntgen.  Lee  to  gen,  J$ur\- 


NARRATIVE.  & 

superiority  of  freemen  to  slaves.  Yet,  on  the  day  of 
trial,  from  whatever  cause  it  proceeded,  the  fate  of  the 
country  and  its  liberties  was  always  committed  to 
a  handful  of  mercenaries,  the  very,  things  which  were 
the  eternal  theme  of  our  scorn  and  derision.  The  fact 
must  either  be,  that  th«  effective  strength  of  a  na- 
tion does,  after  all,  reside  in  regular  disciplined  forces, 
or  that  appearances  were  lamentably  deceitful ;  and 
that  the  gallant  affair  of  Bunker's  hill,  and  others, 
were  but  the  effects  of  momentary  excitement.  A- 
merica  does  not  seem  to  be  a  soil  for  enthusiasm  ;  and 
I  am  not  at  all  disposed  to  dispute  the  assertion  con- 
tained in  a  letter  of  general  Du  Portail,  in  the  time  of 
the  war,  that  there  was  more  of  it  in  a  single  cof- 
iee  house  in  Paris,  than  on  our  whole  continent  put  to- 
gether. From  these  facts,  and  facts  they  assuredly  are, 
let  our  theoretical  men  calculate  the  probable  result  of  a 
formidable  invasion  of  our  country  in  our  present  state 
of  preparation ;  and  if,  in  the  heroic  epoch  alluded  to, 
when  there  had  been  really  a  promise  of  great  things,  so 
little  was  done,  how  much  less,  is  rationally  to  be  expect- 
ed from  the  empty  vapouring  of  demagogue  valour. 
Would  it  have  been  credited  in  theyear  1773*  that  a  Bri- 
tish army  of  eighteen  thousand  men  could  have  marched 
in  perfect  security  from  the  Chesapeake  to  Philadelphia  ? 
that  a  much  smaller  force  could  have  penetrated  through 
the  Jerseys  to  the  Delaware  ?  and  that  mere  partisan 
bodies  could  have  traversed  the  southern  states,  in  utter 
contempt  of  the  long  knife  of  Virginia!  All  these  things 
were  done;  and  yet  our  babbling  statesmen  will  talk* 
"Ye  gods!  how  they  will  talk,"  of  the  irresistable  prow- 
ess of  a  nation  of  freemen  !  From  the  perseverance  of 
Spain,  when  compared  with  the  short  lived  exertions  of 
Austria  and  Prussia,  some  argue  the  superiority  of  a  de- 
termined people  to  regular  armies.  But  it  is  not  certain- 
ly like  Spain,  that  we  would  wish  to  have  our  country 
defended,  to  be  first  over-run  and  destroyed!  Neither 
can  the  glory  we  aspire  to,  be  merely  thatVf  the  boxer, 
who  bears  a  great  deal  of  beating,  and  solely  depends  on 
inding  his  adversary.  I  have  lately-seen  sneers  at 
\v -hat  are  called  technical  armies ;  but  what  are  we  to  call 
those  with  which  Napcleon  has  achieved  his  victories 'and 
attained  his  present  fearful  ascendency !  We  can  hard* 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 


ly  say,  they  are  not  technical,  because,  in  part,  composed 
of  conscripts;  and,  if  by  the  term,  is  meant  disciplined, 
ivho  will  deny  them  that  qualification  ? 

Memoirs  of  a  life  chiefly  passed 
in  Pennsylvania^  #c.  <§*(\ 


Ravenous  appetites  of  the  Shoshonee  Indians. 

AFTER  the  hunters  had  been  gone  about  an  hour,  captain 
Lewis  again  mounted  with  one  of  the  Indians  behind 
him,  and  the  whole  party  set  out ;  but  just  as  they  passed 
through  the  narrows,  they  saw  one  of  the  spies  coming  back 
at  full  speed  across  the  plain :  the  chief  stopped  and 
seemed  uneasy,  the  whole  band  were  moved  with  fresh 
suspicions,  and  captain  Lewis  himself  was  much  discon- 
certed, lest,  by  some  unfortunate  accident,  some  of  their 
enemies  might  perhaps  have  straggled  that  way.  The 
young  Indian  had  scarcely  breath  to  say  a  few  words  as 
he  came  up,  when  the  whole  troop  dashed  forward  as 
fast  as  their  horses  could  carry  them  ;  and  captain  Lew- 
is, astonished  at  this  movement,  was  borne  along  for  near- 
ly a  mile  before  he  learnt,  with  great  satisfaction,  that  it 
was  all  caused  by  the  spy's  having  come  to  announce 
that  one  of  the  white  men  had  killed  a  deer.  Released 
from  his  anxiety,  he  now  found  the  jolting  very  uncom- 
fortable ;  for  the  Indian  behind  him,  being  afraid  of  not 
getting  his  share  of  the  feast,  had  lashed  the  horse  at  every 
step  since  they  set  oft';  he  therefore  reined  him  in,  and 
ordered  the  Indian  to  stop  beating  him.  The  fellow  had  no 
idea  of  losing  time  in  disputing  the  point,  and  jumping  oft' 
the  horse,  ran  for  a  mile  at  full  speed.  Captain  Lewis 
slackened  his  pace  and  followed  at  a  sufficient  distance  to 
observe  them.  When  they  reached  the  place  where  Drew- 
yer  had  thrown  out  the  intestines,  they  all  dismounted  in 
confusion,  and  ran  tumbling  over  each  other  like  famish- 
ed dogs;  each  tore  away  whatever  part  he  could,  and  in- 
stantly began  to  eat  it;  some  had  the  liver,  some  the 
kidneys,  in  short,  no  part  on  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
look  with  disgust,  escaped  them :  one  of  them  who  had 
seized  about  nine  feet  of  the  entrails,  was  chewing  at  one 
cod,  while  with  his  hand  he  was  diligently  clearing  hi? 


NARRATIVE.  74 

way  by  discharging  the  contents  at  the  other.  It  was, 
indeed ,  impossible  to  see  these  wretches  ravenously  feed- 
ing on  the  tilth  of  animals,  and  the  blood  streaming  from 
their  mouths,' without  deploring  how  nearly  the  condition 
of  savages  approaches  that  of  the  brute  creation  :  yet5 
though  suffering  with  hunger,  they  did  not  attempt,  as 
they  might  have  done,  to  take  by  force  the  whole  deer, 
but  contented  themselves  with  what  had  been  thrown 
away  by  the  hunter.  Captain  Lewis  now  had  the  deer 
skinned,  and  after  reserving  a  quarter  of  it,  gave  the  rest 
of  the  animal  to  the  chief,  to  be  divided  among  the  Indians, 
who  immediately  devoured  nearly  the  whole  of  it  with- 
out cooking.  They  now  went  forward  towards  the  creek, 
where  there  was  some  brush  wood  to  make  a  fire,  and 
found  Drewyer,  who  had  killed  a  second  deer :  the  same 
struggle  for  the  entrails  was  renewed  here,  and  on  giving 
nearly  the  whole  deer  to  the  Indians,  they  devoured  it 
even  to  the  soft  part  of  the  hoofs.  A  fire  being  made, 
captain  Lewis  had  his  breakfast,  during  which,  Drewyer 
brought  in  a  third  deer :  this  too,  after  reserving  one 
quarter,  was  given  to  the  Indians,  who  now  seemed  com- 
pletely satisfied  and  in  good  humour. 

LEWIS    AND    CLARKE. 


Providential  escape  of  Captain  Lewis  from  a  Bear. 

CAPTAIN  LEWIS  then  descended  the  hill,  and  directed 
his  course  towards  the  river  falling  in  from  the  west.  He 
soon  met  a  herd  of  at  least  a  thousand  buffalo,  and  being 
desirous  of  providing  for  supper,  shot  one  of  them  ;  the 
animal  immediately  began  to  bleed,  and  captain  Lewis, 
who  had  forgotten  to  reload  his  rifle,  was  intently  watch- 
ing to  see  him  fall,  when  he  beheld  a  large  brown  bear 
which  was  stealing  on  him  unperceived,  ami  was  already 
within  twenty  steps.  In  the  first  moment  of  surprise, 
he  lifted  his  rifle,  but  remembering  instantly  that  it 
^vas  not  Charged,  and  that  he  had  not  time  to  reload, 
he;  felt  that  there  was  no  safety  but  in  flight.  It  was 
in  the  open  level  plain,  not  a  bush  nor  a  tree  with- 
in three  hundred  yards,  the  bank  of  the  river  sloping 
v  nd  not  more  than  three  feet  high,  so  that  there  was  no 


73  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

possible  mode  of  concealment;  captain  Lewi3,  therefore 
thought  of  retreating  in  a  quick  walk  as  fast  as  the  bear 
advanced  towards  the  nearest  tree ;  but  as  soon  as  he 
turned,  the  bear  ran  open  mouth,  and  at  full  speed  upon 
him.  Captain  Lewis  ran  about  eighty  yards,  bat  finding 
that  the  animal  gained  on  him  fast,  it  flashed  on  his  mind., 
that  by  getting  into  the  water  to  such  a  depth  that  the 
bear  would  be  obliged  to  attack  him  swimming,  there  was 
still  some  chance  of  his  life  5  he  therefore  turned  short» 
plunged  into  the  river  about  waist  deep,  and  facing  about, 
presented  the  point  of  his  espontoon.  The  bear  arrived 
at  the  water's  edge,  within  twenty  feet  of  him,  but  as 
soon  as  he  put  himself  in  this  posture  of  defence,  he 
seemed  frightened,  and  wheeling  about,  retreated  with 
as  much  precipitation  as  he  had  pursued.  Very  glad  to  be 
released  from  this  danger,  captain  Lewis  returned  to 
the  shore,  and  observed  him  run  with  great  speed,  some- 
times looking  back  as  if  he  expected  to  be  pursued,  till  he 
reached  the  woods.  He  could  not  conceive  the  cause  of 
the  sudden  alarm  of  the  bear,  but  congratulated  himself 
on  his  escape,  when  he  saw  his  own  track  torn  to  pieces 
by  the  furious  animal,  and  learnt  from  the  whole  adventure 
.never  to  suffer  his  rifle  to  be  a  moment  unloaded. 

Ibid. 


Curious  traditionary  account  of  the  origin  of  the  Osage 
Indians, 

AMONG  the  peculiarities  of  this  people,  there  is  nothing 
more  remarkable,  than  the  tradition  relative  to  their  ori- 
gin.    According  to  universal  belief,  the  founder  of  the 
nation  was  a  snail,  passing  a  quiet  existence  along  the 
banks  of  the  Osage,  till  a  high  flood  swept  him  down  to  the 
Missouri,  and  left  him  exposed  on  the  shore.    The  heat 
of  the  sun  at  length  ripened  him  into  a  man,  but  with  the 
change  of  his  nature,  he  had  not  forgotten  his  native  seats 
on  the  Osage,  towards  which  he  immediately  bent  his 
way.     He  was  however  soon  overtaken  by  hunger  and 
fatigue,  when   happily  the  Gr.eat  Spirit  appeared 
giving  him  a  bow  and  arrow,  shewed  him  how  to  ki- 
cook  deer,  and  cover  himself  with  the  skin. 


NARRATIVE.  7l 

proceeded  to  his  original  residence,  bat  as  he  approach- 
ed the  river,  he  was  met  by  a  beaver,  who  enquired 
haughtily  who  lie  was,  and  by  what  authority  he  came  te 
disturb  his  possession.  The  Osage^  answered,  that  the 
river  was  his  own,  for  he  had  once  lived  on  its  borders. 
As  they  stood  disputing,  the  daughter  of  the  beaver  came, 
and  having  by  her  entreaties  reconciled  her  father  to  this 
young  stranger,  it  was  proposed  that  the  Osage  should 
marry  the  young  beaver,  and  share  with  her  family  the 
enjoyments  ofthe  river.  The  Osage  readily  consented, 
and  from  this  happy  union  there  soon  came  the  village 
and  the  nation  of* the  Wasbasha,  or  Os-ages,  who  have 
x*ver -since  preserved  a  pious  reverence  for  their  ancestors* 
abstaining  from  the  chace  ofthe  beaver,  because  in  killing 
that  animal,  they  killed  a  brother  ofthe  Osage.  Of  late 
years, however,  since  the  trade  with  the  whites  has  ren- 
dered beaver  skins  more  valuable,  the  society  of  their 
maternal  relatives  has  visibly  been  reduced,  and  the  poor 
animals  have  nearly  lost  all  the  privileges  of  kin?  1  red. 

TL  •  1 

It)  id. 


Account  of  an  Irish  sailor,  who  resided,  for  several  years, 
on  a  desolate  island  in  the  Pacific  ocean. 

THIS  place  will  probably  immortalize  an  Irishman, 
named  Patrick  Watkins,  who  some  years  since  left  an  En- 
glish ship,  and  took  up  his  abode  on  this  island,  built  him- 
self a  miserable  hut,  about  a  mile  from  the  landing  called 
after  him,  in  a  valley  containing  about  two  acres  of 
ground  capable  of  cultivation,  and  perhaps  the  only  spot 
in,  the  island,  which  affords  sufficient  moisture  for  the 
purpose.  Here  he  succeeded  in  raising  potatoes  and 
pumpkins  in  considerable  quantities,  which  he  generally 
exchanged  for  rum,  or  sold  for  cash.  The  appearance  of 
this  man,  from  the  accounts  I  have  received  of  him,  was 
the  most  dreadful  fatjjljpe  imagined  :  ragged  clothes, 
scarce  suilicient  to-OTiiw  his  nakedness,  and  covered 
with  vermin  ;  his  red  hair  and  beard  matted,  his  skin 
much  burnt,  from  constant  exposure  to  the  sun,  and  so 
v/ild  and  savage  in  his  manners^and  appearance,  that  he 
struck  every  one  with  horror.  For  several  years  this 
G 


"4  REPUBLICAN 

wretched  being  lived  by  himself  on  this  desolate  spcf, 
withoukauy  apparent  desire  than  that  of  procuring  rum 
in  sufficient  quantities  to  keep  hitn&elf  intoxicated,  and 
at  such  times,  after  an  absence  from  his  hut  of  several 
days,  he  would  be  found  in  a  state  of  perfect  insensibility, 
rolling  among  the  rocks  of  the  mountains.  He  appeared 
to  be  reduced  to  the  lowest  grade  to  which  human  nature 
is  capable  of  descending,  and  seemed  to  have  no  desire 
beyond  the  tortoises,  and  other  animals  of  the  island,  ex- 
cept that  of  getting  drunk.  But  this  man,  wretched  and 
miserable  as  he  may  have  appeared,  was  neither  desti- 
tute oi'  ambition,  nor  incapable  of  undertaking  an  enter- 
prize,  that  would  have  appalled  the  heart  of  any  other 
man,  nor  was  he  devoid  of  the  talent  of  rousing  others  to 
•second  his  hardihood. 

He  by  some  means  became  possessed  of  an  old  musket, 
and  a  lev/ charges  of  powder  and  ball  \  arid  the  posses- 
sion of  this  weapon,  first  set  in  motion  all  his  ambitious 
plans.  Re  felt  himself  strong  as  the  sovereign  of  the 
island,  and  was  desirous  of  proving  his  strength  on  the 
first  human  being  who  fell  in  his  way,  which  happened  to 
be  a  negro,  who  was  left  in  charge  of  a  boat,  belonging  to 
an  American  ship,  that  had  touched  there  for  refresh- 
ment. Patrick  came  down  to  the  beach  where  the  boat 
lay,  armed  with  his  musket,  which  now  became  his  con- 
stant companion,  and  directed  the  negro?  in  an  authorita- 
tive manner,  to  follow  him,  and  on  his  refusal  snapped 
the  musket  at  him  twice,  which  luckily  imssed  fire,  the 
negro,  however,  became  intimidated,  and  followed  him, 
Patrick  now  shouldered  his  musket,  marched  off  before, 
iind  on  his  way  up  the  mountains,  exultingly  informed 
the  negro  he  was  henceforth  to  work  for  him,  and  become 
his  slave,  and  that  his  good  or  bad  treatment  would  de- 
pend on  his  future  conduct ;  but,  arriving  at  a  narrow 
defile,  and  perceiving  Patrick  off  his  guard,  the  negro 
seized  the  moment,  grasped  him  in  his  arms,  threw  him 
down,  tied  his  hands  behind  him,  shouldered  him,  and 
carried  him  down  to  his  boat,  an^y^ienj:he  crew  arrived, 
he  was  taken  on  board  the  ^•••IrxCnglish  smuggler 
was  lying  in  the  harbour  at  theWrme  tiigfl^the  captain  of 
which  sentenced  Patrick  to  be  severely  whipped  on 
board  both  vessels,  which  was  put  in  execution,  and  he  w^/ 
afterwards  taken  on  shore,  hand-cuffed  by  the  TSngiisb 
men,  who  compelled  him  to  make  known  where  he  had 


NARRATIVE, 

concealed  the  few  dollars  he  had  been  enabled  to  accu- 
mulate from  the  sale  of  his  potatoes  and  pumpkins,  which 
they  took  from  him ;  and  while  they  were  busy  in  de- 
stroying his  hut  and  garden,  the  wretched  being  made  his 
escape,  and  concealed  himself  among  the  rocks  in  the  in- 
terior of  the  island,  until  the  ship  had  sailed,  when  he 
ventured  from  his  skulking  place,  and  by  means  of  an  old 
file,  which  he  drove  into  a  tree,  freed  himself  from  the 
hand-cuffs.  He  now  meditated  a  severe  revenge,  but 
concealed  his  intentions.  Vessels  continued  to  touch 
there,  and  Patrick,  as  usual,  to  supply  them  with  vegeta- 
bles; but  from  time  to  time  he  was  enabled,  by  adminis- 
tering potent  draughts  of  his  darling  liquor  to  seme  of  the 
men  or  their  crews,  and  getting  them  so  drunk  that  they 
were  rendered  insensible,  to  conceal  them  until  the  ship 
had  sailed  ;  when^finding  themselves  entirely  dependant 
on  him,  they  willingly  enlisted  under  his  banners,  became 
his  slaves,  and  he  the  most  absolute  of  tyrants.  By  this 
means  he  had  augmented  the  number  to  five,  including 
himself,  and  every  means  were  used  by  him  to  endeavour 
to  procure  arms  for  them,  but  without  effect.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  his  object  was,  to  have  surprised  some  vessel, 
massacred  her  crew,  and  taken  her  off.  While  Patrick 
was  meditating  his  plans,  two  ships,  an  American  and  an 
English  vessel,  touched  there,  and  applied  to  Patrick  for 
vegetables.  He  promised  them  the  greatest  abundance, 
provided  they  would  send  their  boats  to  his  landing,  and 
their  people,  to  bring  them  from  his  garden,  informing 
theingthat  his  rascals  had  become  so  indolent  of  late,  that 
ji&'couWfnot  get  thcmtp  work.  This  arrangement  wa?T 
ggjjRtJEi^  t\vmtygafs  (ftfre  sent  from  each  vessel,  and 
UStfetf  on  tjie  tf£qf  h.  Tl^ir  crews  all  went  to  Patrick's 
habitatio£*ftut 'neither  he  nor  any  of  his  people  were  to 
be  found  :  and,  after  waiting  until  their  patience  was  ex- 
hausted, they  returned  to  the  beach  where  they  found 
only  the  wreck  of  three  of  their  boats,  which  were  broken 
to  pieces,  and  the  fourth  one  missing,  They  succeeded, 
however,  after  much  difficulty,  in  getting  around  to  the 
bay  opposite  to  their  ships,  where  other  boats  were  sent  to 
their  relief,  and  the  commanders  of  the  ships,  apprehen- 
sive of  some  other  trick,  saw  no  security  except  in  a  flight, 
from  the  island,  leaving  Patrick  and  his  gang  in  quiet  po* 
' 


76  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Patrick  arrived  alone  at  Guyaquil,  in  his  open  boai, 
the  rest  who  sailed  with  him,  having  perished  for  want  of 
water,  or,  as  is  generally  supposed,  were  put  to  death  by 
him  on  his  finding  the  water  to  grow  scarce.  From 
thence  he  proceeded  to  Payta,  where  he  wound  himself 
into  the  affections  of  a  tawny  damsel,  and  prevailed  on 
her  to  consent  to  accompany  him  back  to  his  enchanted 
island,  the  beauties  of  which  he  no  doubt  painted  in  glow- 
ing colours  ;  but,  from  his  savage  appearance,  he  was  there 
considered  by  the  police  as  a  suspicious  person,  and  be- 
ing found  under  the  keel  of  a  small  vessel,  then  ready 
to  be  launched,  and  suspected  of  some  improper  inten- 
tions, he  was  confined  in  Payta  goal,  where  he  now  re- 
mains; and  probably  owing  to  this  circumstance, 
"  Charles  Island"  as  well  as  as  the  rest  of  the  Gallapagos, 
may  remain  unpopulated  for  many  ages  to  come. 

Porter's  Journal, 


The  prophet  of  the  Allegheny. 

IN  the  year  1798,  one  of  the  missionaries  to  tire  Indi- 
ans of  the  north-west,  was  on  his  way  from  the  Tuscarora 
settlement  to  the  Senecas.  Journeying  in  pious  medita- 
tion through  the  forest,  a  majestic  Indian  darted  from  its 
recesses,  and  arrested  his  progress.  His  hair  was 
somevvtet  changed  with  age,  and  his  face  marked  with 
the  deep  furrows  of  time  ;  "but  his  eye  expressed  all  the 
fiery  vivacity  of  youthful  passion,  and  his  step  was  Jhat 
of  a  warrior  in  the  vigour  of  manhood. 

"  White  man  of  the  ocean,*  whither  wanderestthou  ?" 
said  the  Indian.  "  I  am  travelling,"  replied  the  meek 
disciple  of  peace,  «  towards  the  dwelling  of  tlrp  brethren, 
to  teach  them  the  knowledge  of  the  only  true  God,  and  to 
lead  them  to  peace  and  happiness."  "To  peace  and 
happiness  !"  answered  the  tall  chief,  while  his  eye  flash- 
ed fire— "  Behold  the  blessings  that  follow  the  footsteps 

»  The  Indians  at  first  imagined,  that  the  white  men  originally  sjmn.p 
from  the  sen,  and  that  they  invaded  their  country  because  they  h 
of  their  own.     They  sometimes  call  them  in  their  songs  "the  white- 
of  the  ocean"  and  this  name  is  still  often  aypiicrt  contemptuous!^ 
savages  of  the  norihwest. 


NAUR  ATiYi. 

of  the  white  man;  wherever  he  comes  the  nations  of  the 
woodlands  fade  from  the  eye,  like  the  mists  of  morning, 
dice  over  the  wide  forest  of  the  surrounding  world,  our 
people  roamed  in  peace  and  freedom,  nor  ever  dreamed 
of  greater  happiness,  than  to  hunt  the  beaver,  the  bear, 
and  the  wild  deer.     From  the  farthest  extremity  of  the 
great  deep,  came  the  white  man,  armed  with  thunder  u:i<i 
lightning,  and  weapons  still  more  pernicious.     In  ^ 
hunted  us  like  wild  beasts ;  in  peace  he  destroyed 
deadly  liquors,  or  yet  more  deadly  frauds,     ret  a 


invaders  ;  or  quietly  dwindled  into  slaves  and  drunkards, 
and^their  names  withered  from  the  earth.  Retire,  dan- 
gerous man,  leave  us  all  we  yet  have  left,  our  sava;- 
tues  and  cur  gods;  and  do  not,  in  the  vain  attempt  to 
cultivate  a  rude  barren  soil,  pluck  up  the  few  thrifty 
plants  of  native  growth,  that  have  survived  the  fostering 
care  of  thy  people,  and  weathered  the  stormy  career  of 
their  pernicious  friendship."  The  tall  chief  darted  into 
the  woods,  and  the  good  missionary  pursued  his  way  with 
pious  resolution. 

fle  preached  the  only  true  divinity,  and  placed  before 
the  eves  of  the  wandering  savages  the  beauty  of  holiness, 
the  sufferings  of  the  Redeemer,  and  the  sublime  glories  ot 
the  Christian  Heaven.  He  allured  them  with  the  hope? 
of  everlasting  bliss,  and  alarmed  them  with  denunciations 
of  an  eternity  of  misery  and  despair.  The  awe  struck 
Indians,  roused  by  these  accumulated  motives,  many  ot 
them  adopted  the  precepts  of  the  missionary,  so  far  as 
they  could  comprehend  them  ;  anu  in  the  course  of  eigh- 
teen months,  their  devotion  became  rational, regular,  and 
apparently  permanent. 

All  at  once,  however,  the  little  church  in  which  the 
good  man  was  wont  to  pen  his  fold,  became  deserted. 
No  votary  came  as  usual  to  listen,  with  decent  reverence, 
to  the  pure  doctrine  which  they  were  there  accustomed 
to  hear ;  and  only  a  few  solitary  idlers  were  seen  of  a 
Sunday  morning,  lounging  about,  and  casting  a  wistful  7 
yet  fearful  look?  at  their  little  peaceful,  and  now  silent 
mansion, 


REPUBLICAN 

The  missionary  sought  them  out,  enquired  into  the 
cause  of  this  mysterious  desertion,  and  told  them  of  the 
bitterness  of  hereafter,  to  those  who,  having  once  known, 
abandoned  the  religion  of  the  only  true  God.     The  poor 
Indians  shook  their  heads,  and  informed  him,  that  the 
Great  Spirit  was  angry  at  their  apostacy,aml  had  sent  a 
prophet  from  the  summit  of  the  Allegheny  mountain,  to 
v/anithem  against  the  admission  of  new  doctrines;  that 
f  here  was  to  b£  a  great  meeting  of  the  old  men  soon,  and 
that  the  prophet  would  there  deliver  to  the  people,  the 
t^e  with  which  he  was  entrusted.     The  zealous  mis- 
iry  determined  to  be  present,  and  to* confront  the 
•v-r,  who  was  known  by  the  appellation  of  the  Pra- 
pft&t  nf  the  Mleghenif*     He  accordingly  obtained  permis 
"sl-oii  from  the  chiefs,  to  appear  at  the  council,  and  to  reply 
to  the  charges  that  might  be  brought  forward.     The  12th 
*.ujy  0f  June,  1802,  was  the  time  fixed  for  the  decision  of 
this  solemn  question,  «  whether  the  belief  of  their  forefa- 
thers, or  that  of  .the  white  men  was  the  true  religion  ??i' 
sual  council  house  not  being  large  enough  to  contain 
bij  gre^t  an  assemblage  of  people,  they  met  in  a  valley 
about  eight  miles  to  the  westward  of  the  Seneca  Lake, 
rhis  valfey  was  then  embowered  under  lofty  trees  ;  it  IB 
surrounded  on  almost  every  side  with  high  rugged  hills, 
and  through  it  meanders  a  small  river. 

It  was  a  scene  calculated  to  call  forth  every  energy  of 
the  human  heart.  On  a  smooth  level,  near  the  bank  of 
the  slow  stream,  under  the  shade  of  a  large  elm,  sat  the 
chief  men  of  the  tribes. — Around  the  circle  which  they 
formed,  was  gathered  a  crowd  of  wondering  savages, 
with  eager  looks,  seeming  to  demand  the  true  God  at  the 
hands  ol  their  wise  men.  In  the  middle  of  the  circle,  sat 
the  aged  and  travel -worn  missionary.— A  few  grey  hairs 
wandered  over  his  brow,  his  hands  were  crossed  on  his 
bosom,  and  as  he  cast  his  hope -beaming  eye  to  htiaven, 
beseemed  to  be  calling  with  pious  fervour  upon  the  God 
of  truth,  to  vindicate  his  own  eternal  word  by  the  mouth  of 
his  servant. 

For  more  than  half  an  hour  there  was  silence  in  the  val- 
ley, save  the  whispering  of  the  trees  in  the  south  wind., 
and  the  indistinct  murmuring  of  the  river.  Then  all  at 
a  sound  of  astonishment  passed  through  the  ercv":; 


NARRATIVE. 


avul  the  Prophet  of  the  Allegheny  was  seen  descending  one 
of  the  high  hills :  with  furious  and  phrenzied  step,  lie  en- 
tered the  circle,  and  waving  his  hand  in  token  of  silence, 


the  missionary  saw  with  wonder,  the  salne  tail  chief  who, 
lour  years  before,  had  crossed  him  iu  the  Tuscarora  for- 
est. "The  same  panther  skin  hung  o>er  his  shoulders, 
the  same  tomahawk  quivered  in  his  hand,  and  the 
iiery  and  malignant  spirit  burned  in  his  red  eye.     H 
dressed  the  awe-struck  Indians,  and  the  valley  rung  wit! 
his  iron  voice. 

"Red  men  of  the  woods,  hear  what  the  Great  £• 
says  to  his  children,  who  have  forsaken  him. 

"Through  the  wide  regions  that  were  once  the  in!  • 
ance  of  my  people,  and  where,  for  ages,  they  roved  ;»? 
iree  as  the  wild  winds,  resounds  the  axe  of  the  white 
man.  The  paths  of  your  forefathers  are  polluted  by  their 
steps,  and  your  hunting  fields  are  every  day  wiei ttcl 
from  you  by  their  arts.  Once,  on  the  shores  ot  the  migh- 
ty ocean,  your  fathers  were  wont  to  enjoy  nil  the  luxuri- 
ant delights  of  the  deep.  Now  you  are  exiles,  in  swanks- 
or  barren  hills;  and  these  wretched  possessions  you 
enjoy  by  the  precarious  tenure  of  the  white  man's  will. 
The  shrill  cry  of  revelry  or  war,  no  more  is  heard  oa  the 
majestic  shores  of  the  Hudson^  or  the  *nveet  banks  of  the 
silver  Mohawk.  There,  where  the  Indian  lived  and  died 
free  as  the  air  he  breathed,  and  chased  the  panther  and 
the  deer  from  morn  till  evening — rvon  there,  the  chrk- 
.  tian  slave  cultivates  the  soil  in  undisturbed  possession  5 
and,  as  he  whistles  behind  his  plough,  turns  up  the  sa- 
cred remains  of  your  beloved  ancestors.  Have  ye  not 
heard  at  evening,  and  sometimes  in  the  dead  of -night, 
those  mournful  and  melodious  sounds,  that  steal  through 
the  deep  vallies  or  along  the  mountain  sides,  like  the 
song  of  echo.  These  are  the  wailings  of  the  spirits 
\vhose  bones  have  been  turned  up  by  the  sacrilegious  la- 
bours of  the  white  men,  and  left  to  the  mercy  of  the  rain 
and  the  tempest.  They  eall  upon  you  to  avenge  them. 
They  adjure  you  by  every  motive  that  can  rouse  1  he- 
hearts  of  the  brave,  to  wake  from  your  long  sleep,  and, 
by  returning  to  these  invaders  of  the  grave,  the  long 
arrears  of  vengeance,  restore  again,  the  tired  and  wan- 
dering spirits  to  their  blissful  paradise,  far  beyond  the 
blue  hills. 


80  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

These  are  the  blessings  you  owe  to  the  Christians. 
They  have  driven  your  fathers  from  their  ancient  inher- 
itance— they  have  destroyed  them  with  the  sword  and 
poisonous  liquors — they  have  dug  up  their  bones,  and 
there  left  them  to  bleach  in  the  wind — and  now,  they 
aim  at  completing  your  wrongs,  and  ensuring  your  des- 
truction, by  cheating  you  into  the  belief  of  that 'Divinity,, 
whose  very  precepts  they  plead  in  justification  of  all  the 
miseries  they  have  heaped  upon  your  race. 

Hear  me,  0,  deluded  people,  for  the  last  time! — If 
you  persist  in  deserting  my  altars;  if  still  you  are  de- 
termined to  listen,  with  fatal  credulity,  to  the  strange 
pernicious  doctrines  of  these  Christian  usurpers — if  you 
are  unalterably  devoted  to  your  new  gods  and  new  cus- 
toms— if  you  ivill  be  the  friend  of  the  white  man,  and 
the  follower  of  his  God — my  wrath  shall  follow  you. 
1  will  dart  my  arrows  of  forked  lightning  among  your 
towns,  and  send  the  warring  tempests  of  winter  to  de- 
vour you.  Ye  shall  become  bloated  with  intemperance; 
your  numbers  shall  dwindle  away,  until  but  a  few  wretch- 
ed slaves  survive,  and  these  shall  be  driven  deeper  and 
^deeper  int/o  the  wild,  there  to  associate  with  the  dastard 
beasts  of  the  forest,  which  once  fled  before  the  mighty 
hunters  of  your  tribe.  The  spirits  of  your  fathers  shall 
curse  you  from  the  shores  of  that  happy  island  in  the 
great  lake,  where  they  enjoy  an  everlasting  season  of 
hunting,  and  chase  the  wild  deer  with  dogs  swifter  than 
the  wind.  Lastly,  I  swear,  by  the  lighting,  the  thun- 
der and  the  tempest,  that  in  the  space  of  sixty  moons, 
of  all  the  Senecas,  not  one  of  yourselves  or  your  poster- 
ity, shall  remain  on  the  face  of  the  earth."* 

Port  Folio. 


31  Note,  by  the  Compiler. — The  length  of  this  interesting  narrative^ 
rendered  it  (inadvisable,  consistent  with  the  proposed  size  of  the  work, 
to  irsert  it  entire.  It  may  be  satisfactory  to  the  reader  to  learn,  that 
notwithstanding  all  the  machinations  of  this  enterprising  and  dangerous 
pretender  lo  the  gifts  of  prophesy,  the  Senecas  consented  to  receive  the 
doctrines  of  Christianity,  and  were  induced,  in  the  language  of  Red  Jack- 
et, one  of  their  chiefs,  to  believe  "  That  the  Christian  God  was  more 
vise,  just,  beneficent  and  powerful  than  the  Great  Spirit ;  and  that  the 
missionary  who  delivered  his  precepts,  ought  to  be  cherished  as  their 
best  benefactor — their  guide  to  future  happiness, 


NARRATIVE.  8f 

Indian  Hospitality. 
Extract  from  Remarks  concerning  the  Savages  of  North  America. 

CONIIAD  "\VEISER,  our  interpreter,  gave  me  the  fol- 
lowing instance  of  the  hospitality  of  the  Indians.  He 
had  been  naturalized  among  the  Six  Nations,  and  spoke 
well  the  Mohawk  language.  In  going  through  the  In- 
dian country,  to  carry  a  message  from  our  Governor  to 
the  Council  at  Onondaga,  he  called  at  the  habitation  of 
Cannassetego,  an  old  acquaintance,  who  embraced  him, 
spread  furs  for  him  to  sit  on,  placed  before  him  some  boil- 
ed beans  and  venison,  and  mixed  some  rum  and  water 
for  his  drink.  When  he  was  well  refreshed,  and  had  lit 
his  pipe,  Cannessetcgo  began  to  converse  with  him  ;  ask- 
ed him  how  he  had  fared  the  many  years  since  they  had 
seen  each  other,  whence  he  then  came,  what  occasioned 
the  journey,  &c.  Conrad  answered  all  his  questions., 
and  when  the  discourse  began  to  flag,  the  Indian,  to  con- 
tinue it,  said,  «  Conrad,  you  have  lived  long  among  the 
white  people,  and  know  something  of  their  customs  ;  I 
have  been  sometimes  at  Albany,  and  have  observed,  that 
once  in  seven  days,  they  shut  up  their  shops,  and  assem- 
ble all  in  the  great  house :  tell  me  what  it  is  for;  what 
do  they  do  there  ?"  "  They  meet  there,"  says  Conrad, 
"  to  learn  and  hear  good  things.**  "I  do  not  doubt." 
said  the  Indian,  "that  they  tell  you  so;  they  have  told 
me  the  same:  but  I  doubt  the  truth  of  what  they 
and  I  will  tell  you  my  reasons.  I  went  lately  to  Alba- 
ny, to  sell  my  skins,  and  buy  blankets,  knives,  powder, 
rum,  &c.  You  know  I  used  generally,  to  deal  with  : 
Hanson;  but  I  was  a  little  inclined,  this  time,  to  try 
some  other  merchants.  However,  I  called  first  upon 
Hans,  and  asked  him  what  he  would  give  for  beaver.  He 
said  he  could  not  give  more  than  four  shillings  a  pound  : 
but,  says  he,  I  cannot  talk  on  business  now;  this  is  the 
day  we  meet  together  to  learn  good  things,  and  I  am  go- 
ing to  the  meeting.  So  I  thought  to  myself,  since  I  can- 
not do  any  business  to-day,  I  may  as  well  go  to  the  meet- 
ing too,  and  I  went  with  him.  There  stood  up  a  man  in 
black,  who  began  to  talk  to  the  people  very  angrily.  I 
•Jid  not  understand  what  he  said ;  but  perceiving  that  he 
looked  much  at  me,  and  at  Hanson,  I  imagined  he  was 
r,ngry  at  seeing  me  there :  so  I  went  out,  sat  doTvn  near 


i£  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

the  house,  struck  fire,  and  lit  my  pipe,  waiting  till  the 
meeting  should  break  up.  I  thought,  too,  that  the  man 
had  mentioned  something  of  beaver,  and  I  suspected  it 
might  be  the  subject  of  their  meeting.  So,  when  they 
came  out,  I  accosted  my  merchant — u  Well,  Hans,"  says 
I,  "  I  hope  you  agreed  to  give  more  than  four  shilllings  a 
pound."  "  No,"  says  he,  "  I  cannot  give  so  much,  I  can- 
not give  more  than  three  shillings  and  six-pence."  I 
then  spoke  to  several  other  dealers,  but  they  all  sung  the 
same  song,  three  and  six -pence,  three  and  six-pence. 
This  made  it  clear  to  me,  that  my  suspicion  was  right: 
and  that  whatever  they  pretended  of  meeting  to  learn 

food  things,  the  purpose  was,  to  consult  how  to  cheat  In- 
ians  in  the  price  of  beaver.  Consider  but  a  little,  Con- 
rad, and  you  must  be  of  my  opinion.  If  they  met  so 
often  to  learn  good  things,  they  would  certainly  have 
learned  some,  before  this  time.  But  they  are  still  ignor- 
ant. You  know  our  practice.  If  a  white  man,  in  travel- 
ling through  our  country,  enters  one  of  our  cabins,  we  all 
treat  him  as  I  do  you  :  we  dry  him  if  he  is  wet,  we  warm 
him  if  he  is  cold,  and  give  him  meat  and. drink,  that  he 
may  allay  his  thirst  and  hunger :  and  we  spread  soft  furs 
for  him  to  rest  and  sieep  on ;  we  demand,  nothing  in  re- 
turn. But  if  I  go  into  a  white  man's  house,  at  Albany, 
and  ask  for  victuals  and  drink,  they  say,  Where  is  your 
money,  and  if  I  have  none,  they  say,  Get  out,  you  Indian 
dog.  You  see  they  have  not  yet  learned  these  little 
good  things,  that  we  need  i;o  meetings  to  be  instruct 
ed  in,  because  our  mothers  taught  them  to  us  when  we 
were  children  :  and  therefore,  it  is  impossible  that  their 
meetings  should  be,  as  they  say,  for  any  such  purpose, 
or  have  any  such  effect;  they  are  only  to  contrive  the 
cheating  of  Indians  in  the  price  of  beaver. 

DJl.    FRANKLIN. 


Sufferings  of  a  party  of  U.  S.  troops,  on  a  voyage  of  dis- 
covery through  the  ive&tern  country. 

AFTER  showing  the  sergeant  a  point  to  steer  for,  the  clot  < 
tor  and  myself  proceeded  on  ahead,  in  hopes  of  kt iliac 
A something,  as  we  were  again  without  victuals.  Abov* 


NARRATIVE.  «3 

0116  oxlock  it  commenced  snowing  very  hard  :  we  re- 
treated to  a  small  copse  of  pine,  where  we  constructed  a 
r.amp  to  shelter  us,  and  as  it  was  time  the  party  should 
arrive,  we  sallied  forth  to  search  for  them.  We  sepa- 
rated, and  had  not  marched  more  than  one  or  two  miles, 
when  1  found  it  impossible  to  keep  any  course  without  the 
compass  continually  in  my  hand,  and  then  not  being  able 
to  see  more  than  ten  yards.  1  began  to  perceive  the  dif- 
ficulty even  of  finding  the  way  back  to  our  camp,  and  I 
can  scarcely  conceive  a  more  dreadful  idea  than  remaining 
•on  the  wild",  where  inevitable  death  must  have  ensued. 
it  was  with  great  pleasure  I  ajrain  reached  the  camp, 
M'here  1  found  the  doctor  had  arrived  before  me.  We 
lay  down,  and  strove  to  dissipate  the  idea  of  hunger  and 
our  misery,  by  the  thoughts  of  our  far  distant  homes  and 
relatives. 

We  salhecl  out  next  morning,  and  shortly  after  perceiv- 
ed our  little  band,  marching  through  the  snow  (about  two 
and  a  half  feet  deep)  silent  and  with  downcast  counten- 
ances. We  joined  them,  and  learnt  that  they,  finding 
the  snow  to  tall  so  thickly  that  it  was  impossible  to  pro- 
seed,  had  encamped  about  one  o'clock  the  p  eceding 
day.  As  I  found  all  the  buffalo  had  quitted  the  plains.  I 
determined  to  attempt  the  traverse  of  the  mountains,  in 
which  we  persevered,  until  the  snow  became  so  deep,  it 
was  impossible  to  proceed  :  when  I  again  turned  my  face 
to  the  plain,  and  for  the  first  time  during  the  voyage 
found  myself  discouraged  ;  and  for  the  first  time  I  heard 
a  man  express  himself  in  a  seditious  manner :  he  ex- 
claimed, ifc  that  it  was  more  than  human  nature  could 
"bear,. to  march  three  days  without  sustenance,  through 
"  snows  three  feet  deep,  and  carry  burthens  only  fit  for 
«  horses,"  £c.  &c. 

As  I^knew  very  well  the  fidelity  and  attachment  of 
the  majority  of  the  men,  and  even  of  this  poor  fellow, 
(only  he  could  not  endure  fasting)  and  that  it  was  in  my 
power  to  chastise  him,  when  I  thought  proper,  I  passed 
it  unnoticed  for  the  moment,  determined  to  notice  it  at  a 
more  auspicious  time.  We  dragged  our  weary  and  ema- 
ciated limbs  along,  until  about  fen  oxlock,  !*he  doctor 
and  myself,  who  were  in  advance,  discovered  some  buf- 
falo on  the  plain,  where  we  left  our  loads,  and  orders  on 
the  snow,  to  proceed  to  the  nearest  woods  to  encamp. 
W  e  went  in  pursuit  of  the  buffalo,  which  were  on  the  move. 


M  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

The  doctor,  who  was  then  less  reduced  than  myseh, 
ran  and  got  behind  a  hill,  and  shot  one  down,  which  stop- 
ped the  remainder.  We  crawled  up  to  the  dead  one, 
and  shot  from  him  as  many  as  twelve  or  fourteen  times 
among  the  gang  :  when  they  removed  out  of  sight.  We 
then  proceeded  to  butcher  the  one  we  had  shot ;  and 
after  procuring  each  of  us  a  load  of  the  meat,  we  march- 
ed for  the  camp,  the  smoke  of  which  was  in  view.  We 
arrived  at  the  camp  to  the  great  joy  of  our  brave  Iads5 
who  immediately  feasted  sumptuously.'  after  our  repast, 
I  sent  for  the  lad  who  had  presumed  to  speak  "discontent- 
edly in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  addressed  him  to  the 
following  effect :  Broivn,  you  this  day  presumed  to  make 
use  of  language  which  was  seditious  and  mutinous ;  I 
then  passed  it  over,  pitying  your  situation,  and  attribut- 
ing it  to  your  distress,  rather  than  your  inclination,  to 
sow  discontent  amongst  the  party.  Had  I  reserved  pro- 
visions  for  ourselves,  whilst  you  were  starving;  had  we 
been  marching  along  light  and  at  our  ease,  whilst  you 
were  weighed  down  with  your  burden;  then  you  would 
have  had  some  pretext  for  your  observations  ;  but  when 
we  were  equally  hungry,  emaciated,  and  charged  with 
burdens,  which  I  believe  my  natural  strength  is  less  able 
to  bear  than  any  man's  in  the  party ;  when  we  were  always 
foremost  in  breaking  the  roa:l,  reconnoitering  and  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  chase;  it  was  the  height  of  ingratitude  in 
you,  to  let  an  expression  escape  which  was  indicative  of 
discontent;  your  ready  compliance  and  firm  persever- 
ance I  had  reason  to  expect;  as  the  leader  of  men  and 
my  companions,  in  miseries  and  dangers.  But  your 
duty  as  a  soldier  called  on  your  obedience  to  your  officer, 
and  a  prohibition  of  such  language,  which  for  this  time  I 
will  pardon  ;  but  I  assure  you,  should  it  ever  be  repeat- 
ed, by  instant  death,  I  will  revenge  your  ingratitude  and 
punish  your  disobedience.  I  take  this  opportunity  like- 
wise to  assure  you,  soldiers  generally,  of  my  thanks  for 
obedience,  perseverance  and  ready  contempt  of  every 
danger,  which  you  have  generally  evinced  ;  I  assure  you 
nothing  shall  be  wanting  on  my  part,  to  procure  you  the 
rewards  of  our  government  and  the  gratitude  of  your 
countrymen."  Fike's  Expedition** 


V 

NARRATIVE. 

Death  of  General  Montgomery. 

An  extract  tVom  Henry's  account  of  the  hardships  ar,d  sufferings  of  thai: 
b  md  of  heroes,  who  traversed  the  wilderness  in  the  campaign  against 
Quebec,  in  1775. 

GENERAL  MONTGOMERY  had  marched  at  the  precise 
time  stipulated,  and  had  arrived  at  his  destined  point  of 
attack,  nearly  about  the  time  we  attacked  the  first  barrier. 
He  was  not  one  that  would  loiter.  Colonel  Campbell, 
x>f  the  New  York  troops,  a  large,  good  looking-man,  who 
was  second  in  command  of  that  party,  and  was  deemed  a 
veteran,  accompanied  the  army  to  the  assault :  his  sta- 
tion was  rearward  :  general  Montgomery,  with  his  aids 
\vere  at  the  point  of  the  column. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  you  a  fc^ir  and  complete  idea, 
<tf  the  nature  and  situation  of  the  place,  solely  with  the 
pea — the  pencil  is  required.  As  by  the  special  permis- 
sion of  government,  obtained  by  the  good  offices  of  cap- 
tain Prentiss,  in  the  summer  following,  JJoyd,  a  few 
others, and  myself, reviewed  the  causes  of  our  disaster;  it 
is  therefore  in  my  power,  so  far  as  my  abilities  will  permit, 
to  give  you  a  tolerable  notion  of  the  spot.  Cape  Dia- 
mond nearly  resembles  the  great  jutting  rock  which  is  in 
the  narrows  at  Hunter's  falls,  on  the  Susquehanna.  Tho 
rock,  at  the  latter  place,  shoots  out  as  steeply,  as  that 
at  Quebec,  but  by  no  means  forms  so  great  an  angle, 
on  the  margin  of  the  river,  but  is  more  craggy.  There  is 
a  stronger  and  more  obvious  difference  in  the  compari- 
son. When  yqp  surmount  the  hill  at  St.  Charles,  or  the 
St.  Lawrence  side,  which,  to  the  eye  are  equally  high  and 
steep,  you  find  yourself  on  Abraham's  plains,  and  upon 
an  extensive  champaign  country.  The  bird's  eye  view 
round  Quebec,  bears  a  striking,  conformity  to  the  sites  of 
Northumberland  and  Pittsburgh,  in  Pennsylvania  ;  but 
the  former  is  on  a  more  gigantic  scale,  and  each  of  the 
latter  wants  the  steepness  and  cragginess  of  the  back 
ground,  and  a  depth  of  rivers,  this  detail  is  to  instruct 
you  in  the  geographical  situation  of  Quebec,  and  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  explaining  the  manner  of  general  Mont- 
gomery's death,  and  the  reasons  of  our  failure.  From 
Wolfe's  cove,  there  is  a  good  beach,  down  to,  and  around 
"Cape  Diamond.93  The  bulwarks  of  the  city  came  to 
the  edge  of  the  hill,  above  that  place.  Thence  down 
the  side  of  the  precipice,  slantingly  to  the  brink  or 
It 


«ii  HEPU13LICAN  COMPILER. 

the  river,  there  was  a  stockade  of  strong  posts,  fifteen 
or  twenty  feet  high,  knit  together  by  a  stout  railing, 
at  bottom  and  top  with  pins.  This  was  no  mean  de- 
fence, and  was  at  the  distance  of  one  hundred  yards 
from  the  point  of  the  rock.  Within  this  palisade, 
and  at  a  few  yards  from  the  very  point  itself,  there 
was  a  like  palisade,  though  it  did  not  run  so  high  up  the 
hill.  Again,  within  Cape  Diamond,  and  probably  at  a 
distance  of  fifty  yards,  there  stood  a  block  house,  which 
Deemed  to  take  up  the  space  between  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
and  the  precipitous  bank  of  the  river,  leaving  a  cart  way. 
or  passage,  on  each  side  of  it.  A  block-house,  if  well 
Constructed,  is  an  admirable  method  of  defence,  which, 
in  the  process  of  the  war,  to  our  cost,  was  fully  expe- 
rienced. In  the  instance  now  before  us,  (though  the 
house  was  not  built  upon  the  most  approved  principles,) 
yet  it  was  a  formidable  object.  It  was  a  square  of  per- 
haps forty  or  fifty  feet.  The  large  logs  neatly  squared, 
\vere  tightly  bound  together  by  dove-tail  work.  If  I  am  not 
much  mistaken,  the  lower  story  contained  loop-holes  for 
inusquetry,  so  narrow,  that  those  within  could  not  be 
harmed  from  without.  The  upper  story  had  four  or  more 
port-holes  for  cannon  of  a  large  callibre.  These  guns 
were  charged  with  grape  or  cannister  shot,  and  were 
pointed  with  exactness  towards  the  avenue,  at  Cape 
Diamond.  The  hero  Montgomery  came.  The  drowsy 
or  drunken  guard  did  not  hear  the  sawing  of  the  posts  of 
the  first  palisade.  Here, if  not  very  erroneous,  four  posts 
were  sawed  and  thrown  aside,  so  as  to  admit  four  men 
abreast.  The  column  entered  with  a  mtuily  fortitude. 
Montgomery,  accompanied  by  his  aids,  M'Pherson  and 
Cheeseman,  advanced  in  front.  Arriving  at  the  second 
palisade,  the  general,  with  his  own  hanas,  sawed  down 
two  of  the  pickets,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  admit  two  men 
abreast.  These  sawed  pickets  were  close  under  the  hill, 
and  but  a  few  yards  from  the  very  point  of  the  rock,  out 
of  the  view  and  fire  of  the  enemy,  from  the  block -house. 
Until  our  troops  advanced  to  the  point,  no  harm  could 
ensue,  but  by  stones  thrown  from  above.  Even  now, 
there  had  been  but  an  imperfect  discovery  of  the  advanc- 
ing of  an  enemy,  and  that  only  by  the  intoxicated  guard. 
The  guard  fled;  the  general  advanced  a  few  paces.  A 
drunken  sailor  returned  to  his  gun,  swearing  he  v 
not  forsake  it  while  undischarged.  This  fact  is  re 


NARRATIVE.  87 

from  the  testimony  of  the  guard  on  the  morning  of  our 
capture,  some  of  those  sailors  being  our  guard.  Applying 
the  match,  this  single  discharge  deprived  us  of  our  excel- 
lent commander. 

Examining  the  spot,  the  officer  who  escorted  us,  pro- 
fessing to  be  one  of  those  who  first  came  to  the  place,  after 
the  death  of  the  general,  shewed  the  position  in  which 
the  general's  body  was  found.  It  lay  two  paces  from 
the  brink  of  the  river,  on  the  back  ;  the  arms  extended 
— Cheesman  lay  on  the  left,  and  M'Pherson  on  the  right, 
in  a  triangular  position.  Two  other  brave  men  lay  near 
them.  The  ground  above  described  was  visited  by  an 
inquisitive  eye  ;  so  that  you  may  rely,  with  some  implicit- 
ness, on  the  truth  of  the  picture.  As  all  danger  from 
without  had  vanished,  the  government  hail  not  only  per- 
mitted the  mutilated  palisades  to  remain,  without  review- 
ing the  enclosure,  but  the  very  sticks,  sawed  by  the  hand 
of  our  commander,  still  lay  strewed  about  the  spot* 


Surrender  of  Lord  Cormcallis. 

AT  two  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  British  army,  led 
by  general  O'Hara,  marched  out  of  its  lines,  with  colors 
cased,  and  drums  beating  a  British  march. 

The  author  was  present  at  this  ceremony  ;  and  certain- 
ly no  spectacle  could  be  more  impressive  than  the  one 
now  exhibited.  Valient  troops  yielding  up  their  arms 
after  fighting  in  defence  of  a  cause  dear  to  them  (because 
the  cause  of  their  country)  under  a  leader,  who,  through  • 
out  the  war,  in  every  grade  and  in  every  situation  to 
which  he  had  been  called,  appeared  the  Hector  of  his 
host.  Battle  after  battle  had  he  fought;  climate  after 
climate  had  he  endured  ;  towns  had  yielded  to  his  man- 
date ;  posts  were  abandoned  at  his  approach  5  armies  were 
conquered  by  his  prowess;  one  nearly  exterminated, 
another  chased  from  the  confines  of  South  Carolina,  fee 
yond  the  Dan,  into  Virginia.  And  a  third  severely  chas  - 
tised  in  that  state  on  the  shores  of  James  river.  Bui 
bore,  even  he,  in  the  mid&t  of  his  «p!  I  fcmivd 

his  conqueror. 


83  KEPUBLICAN  COMPILER 

The  road  through  which  they  marched  was  lined  with 
spectators,  French  and  American.  On  one  side  the  com- 
mander in  chief  surrounded  by  his  suite,  and  the  Ameri- 
can staff,  took  his  station;  on  the  other  side,  opposite  to 
him,  wrfs  the  count  Rocharnbeau,  in  like  manner  attend- 
ed. The  captive  army  approached,  moving  slowly  in 
column,  with  grace  and  precision.  Universal  silence 
was  observed  amidst  the  vast  concourse,  and  the  utmost 
decency  prevailed  :  exhibiting  in  demeanor  an  awful 
sense  of  the  vicissitudes  of  human  life,  mingled  with 
commiseration  for  the  unhappy.  The  head  of  the  col- 
umn approached  the  commander  ^in  chief — O'Hara,  mis- 
taking the  circle,  turned  to  that  on  his  left,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  paying  his  respects  to  the  commander  in  chief, 
and  requesting  further  orders :  when  quickly  discovering 
his  error,  with  much  embarrassment  in  his  countenance, 
he  flew  across  the  road,  and  advancing  up  to  Washington, 
asked  pardon  for  his  mistake,  apologized  for  the  absence 
of  lord  Cornwallis,  and  begged  to  know  his  further  plea- 
sure. The  general,  feeling  his  embarrassment,  relieved 
it  by  referring  him  with  much  politeness  to  general  Lin- 
coln, for  his  government.  Returning  to  the  head  of  the 
column,  it  again  moved,  under  the  guidance  of  Lincoln, 
to  the  field  selected  for  the  conclusion  of  the  ceremony. 

Every  eye  was  turned,  searching  for  the  British  com- 
mander in  chief,  anxious  to  look  at  that  man,  heretofore 
so.  much  the  object  of  their  dread.  AH  were  disappoint- 
ed. Cornwailis  held  himself  back  from  the  humiliating 
scene :  obeying  sensations  which  his  great  character 
ought  to  have  stifled.  He  had  been  unfortunate,  not  from 
any  false  step  or  deficiency  of  exertion  on  his  part,  but 
from  the  infatuated  policy  of  his  superior,  and  the  united 
force  of  his  enemy,  brought  to  bear  upon  him  alone. 
There  was  nothing  with  which  he  could  reproach  himself; 
there  was  nothing  with  which  he  could  reproach  his  brave 
and  faithful  army  :  why  not  then  appear  at  its  head  in  the 
day  of  misfortune,  as  he  hail  always  done  in  the  day  of 
triumph  ?  The  British  general, in  this  instance,  deviated 
from  his  usual  line  of  conduct,  dimming  the  splendour  of 
his  long  and  brilliant  career. 

Lee's  Memoirs  of  the  Southern  War. 


NARRATIVE  *S 

Massacres  of  the  French,  on  the  Mississippi  and  Ohio, 
by  the  Indians. 

M.  DE  CHOPART,  the  commandant  of  fort  Rosalie,  had 
been  guilty  of  such  repeated  acts  of  injustice,  as  to  rentier 
an  investigation  of  his  conduct  indispensable;  and,  for 
this  purpose,  he  was  ordered  to  New  Orleans.  This 
event  excited  much  joy  among  the  Indians,  but  it  was  of 
short  duration.  That  officer  appeared  before  M.  Perier, 
who  at  that  time  administered  the  government,  and  found 
means  to  justify  his  proceedings  in  such  a  manner,  as  to 
be  re-instated  in  his  command.  On  his  return  to -his', 
post,  he  conceived  himself  at  liberty  tio  indulge  his  maHce 
against  the  Indians;  partly  on  account  of  the  trouble  they 
had  given  him.  but  much  more  on  account  of  the  satisfac- 
tion manifested  by  them  at  the  prospect  of  his  disgrace. 
As  some  gratification  to  his  spite,  he  suddenly  resolved 
to  build  a  town  on  the  site  of  the  village  of  the  White 
Apple,  which  covered  a  square  of  about  three  miles  in 
extent. 

Accordingly,  he  sent  for  the  Sun,  a  Chief  of  that  vil- 
lage, and  directed  him  to  clear  the  huts,  and  to  plant 
themselves  in  some  other  place.  The  Chief  replied, 
perhaps  rather  hastily,  "  that  their  ancestors  had  lived 
there  for  many  ages,  and  that  it  was  good  for  their  de- 
scendants to  occupy  the  same  ground.'*  This  noble  and 
dignified  language,  served  only  to  exasperate  the  haughty 
commandant,  and  to  extort  from  him  the  declaration, 
*•'  that,  unless  the  village  was  abandoned  in  a  few  days, 
the  inhabitants  of  it  should  repent  of  their  obstinacy."' 
The  chief  then  returned  to  consult  the  old  men,  and  to 
hold  a  council.  As  a  bloody  conflict  was  inevitable,  the 
Indians  resorted  to  such  expedients  as  were  calculated  to 
gain  time.  They  wished  to  create  an  indissoluble  union 
among  themselves,  and  to  devise  means  adequate  to  the 
end  :  one  of  these  was  the  assistance  of  their  allies, 
which  they  deemed  of  infinite  importance.  They  there- 
fore represented  to  M.  de  Chopart,  that  their  corn  had 
just  come  out  of  the  ground;  that  their  hens  were  laying 
their  eggs  ;  and  that  to  abandon  their  village  at  that  time, 
would  prove  as  injurious  to  the  French  as  to  themselves, 
M.  rle  Chopart  treated  these  reasons  with  disdain;  and 
menaced  immediate  destruction,  unless  his  desires  were 
cd.  The  Indians  ir>  general  are  fruitful  of  expe- 

21   2 


90  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

dients  ;  and  the  Natchez,  who  were  well  acquainted  with 
the  avaricious  disposition  of  their  adversary,  at  last  re- 
sorted to  one  which  for  a  while  suspened  his  wrath. 
They  obtained  permission  to  remain  in  their  own  houses 
till  after  harvest,  on  condition,  that  each  hut  should  pay 
him  a  fowl  and  a  basket  of  corn. 

During  this  short  interval  the  Natchez  frequently  and 
privately  assembled  in  council;  and  a  plan  of  operations 
was  carefully  concerted.  They  unanimously  resolved  to 
make  one  great  effort  to  preserve  their  independence,  and 
to  defend  the  tombs  of  their  fathers.  They  proceeded 
with  caution,  and  omitted  nothing  to  ensure  success. 
They  invited  the  Chickasaws  to  share  in  the  arduous  en- 
terprize ;  but  by  a  strange  fatality,  occasioned  by  the 
treachery  of  one  of  their  own  women,  the  latter  were  de- 
ceived as  to  the  time  of  die  intended  blow,  and  therefore 
did  not  arrive  in  season  to  participate  in  the  struggle. 
The  massacre  of  all  the  French  was  what  they  had  in 
view,  and  it  was  concluded  to  commence  the  work  at  the 
time  of  presenting  the  tribute  of  corn  and  fowls.  Not- 
withstanding all  their  precaution,  and  the  inducement 
each  one  had  to  observe  inviolable  secrecy,  yet  one  of 
their  chief  women,  suspected  the  plot;  and,  either  of- 
fended at  the  seclusion  of  her  sex,  at  least  of  one  of  her 
rank,  from  a  knowledge  of  it,  or  influenced  by  private  at- 
tachment, communicated  her  suspicions  to  some  soldiers 
and  others.  Even  just  before  the  fatal  catastrophe,  M. 
de  Chopart  was  cautioned  to  be  on  his  guard ;  but  his 
evil  genius  led  him  to  disregard  the  admonitions  given 
Mm,  to  punish  those  who  prognosticated  danger,  and  to 
repose  himself  in  criminal  security.  At  length  the  fatal 
period  arrived,  when  the  vengeance  of  the  injured  and 
vindictive  savages,  was  to  burst  on  the  devoted  heads  of 
the  French.  Near  the  close  of  the  last  day  of  November 
V729,  the  gram!  Sun,  with  some  warriors,  repaired  to  the 
fort  with  the  tribute  of  corn  atnd  fowls  agreed  on.  They 
seized  the  gate  and  other  passages,  and  the  soldiers  were 
instantly  deprived  of  the  means  of  defence.  Such  was 
their  number  and  so  well  distributed,  that  opposition 
was  vain.  Other  parties  repaired  to  thtir  appointed  ren- 
dezvous, and  the  houses  of  the  French  about  the  country 
were  tilled  with  them.  The  massacre  was  general  a; 
the  men  ;  the  slaves,  and  some  of  the  women  and  children 
were  spared.  The  chiefs  and  warriors,  disdai-oin  jto  str.u 


NARRATIVE, 

iheir  hands  with  the  blood  of  M.  de  Chopart,  he  fell  by 
one  of  the  meanest  of  the  Indians.  This  settlement  con- 
tained about  seven  hundred  French,  and  very  few  of 
them  escaped  to  carry  the  dreadful  news  to  the  capitaL 
The  forts  and  settlements  at  the  Yazoo  and  Washita, 
shared  the  same  fate.  Thus  these  extensive  possessions 
of  the  French,  which  were  gradually  progressing  to  ma- 
turity, and  the  most  wealthy  of  any  in  the  colony,  pre- 
sented a  melancholy  picture.  They  were  first  plunder- 
ed and  then  exposed  to  the  flames. 

While  the  French  were  in  possession  of  the  country; 
they  built  several  forts.  The  one  at  Kaskaskia  is  almost* 
wholly  destroyed.  They  also  had  one  on  the  Ohio, 
about  thirty-six  miles  from  the  Mississippi;  the  Indian:- 
laid  a  curious  stratagem  to  take  it,  and  it  answered  their 
purpose.  A  number  of  them  appeared  in  the  day  time 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  each  of  whom  was 
covered  with  a,  bear  skin,  and  walked  on  all  fours.  The 
French  supposed  them  to  be  bears,  and  a  party  crossed 
the  river  in  pursuit  of  them.  The  remainder  of  the 
Troops  left  their  quarters,  and  resorted  to  the  bank  of  the 
river  in  front  of  the  garrison,  to  observe  the  sport.  In 
the  mean  time,  a  large  body  of  warriors,  who  were  con- 
sealed  in  the  woods  near  by,  came  silently  up  behind  the 
tort,  and  entered  it  without  opposition,  and  very  few  of 
the  French  escaped  the  carnage.  They  afterwards  built 
another  fort  on  the  game  ground,  and  called  it  Massac, 
in  memory  of  this  disastrous  event;  and  it  retains  this 
name  to  the  present  day. 

8toddard?B  Sketches  of  Louisiana, 


JIassacre  by  the  Indians  and  retaliation  by  the   Whites, 

IN  the  year  1712.  a  dangerous  conspiracy  was  formed 
by  the  Indians  of  North  Carolina  against  the  settlers  in 
that  quarter.  The  particular  cause  of  ihe  quarrel  is  un- 
known ;  probably  they  were  offended  at  the  encroach- 
ments made  on  their  hunting  lands.  The  powerful  tribes 
of  Indians,  called  Corees,  Tuscororas,  and  some  others, 
united,  and  determined  to  murder  or  expel  the  European 
invaders.  They  carried  oa  their  bloody  design  with 


**  REPUBLICAN  COMPILE*. 

amazing  cunning  and  profound  secrecy.  They  surround  - 
3d  their  principal  town  with  a  wooden  breast-work  fcr 
the  security  of  their  own  families.  There  the  different 
tribes  met  together,  to  the  number  of  twelve  hundred 
bowmen  and  formed  their  horrid  plot.  From  this  place 
of  rendezvous  they  sent  out  small  parties,  who  entered 
the  settlements  under  the  mask  of  friendship,  by  different 
roads.  All  of  them  agreed  to  begin  their  murderous 
operations  on  the  same  night.  When  that  night  came 
they  entered  the  planters'  houses,  demanded  provisions, 
were  displeased  with  them,  and  then  murdered  men, 
women,  and  children,  without  mercy  or  distinction. 
To  prevent  a  communication  of  the  alarm  through  the 
settlement,  they  ran  from  house  to  house  slaughtering 
.the  scattered  families  wherever  they  went.  None  of  the 
colonists  knew  what  had  befallen  their  neighbors  before 
the  barbarians  reached  their  own  doors.  About  Koanoke, 
one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  settlers  fell  a  sacrifice  to 
savage  fury  in  one  fatal  night.  A  Swiss  baron  and  almost 
all  the  poor  Palatines  who  had  lately  come  into  the 
country,  were  among  the  slain.  Some,  who  had  hid 
themselves  in  the  woods  escaped,  and  by  alarming  their 
neighbors  prevented  the  total  destruction  of  that  colony. 
Every  family  that  survived  was  ordered  instantly  to  as- 
semble at  one  place,  and  the  militia  under  arms  kept 
watch  over  them  day  and  night  until  relief  arrived.  . 

Governor  Craven  lost  no  time  in  forwarding  a  force  to 
their   assistance.     The    assembly  voted  four  thousand 
pounds  for  the  service  of  the  war.     A  body  of  militia, 
consisting  of  six  hundred  men,  under  the  command  01 
colonel    Barn  well,  marched  against  the  savages.     Two 
hundred  and  eighteen  Cherokees,  under  the  command  of 
captains  Harford  and   Turston;  seventy-nine    Creeks, 
under  captain  Hastings ;  forty-one  Cat  aba  ws,  under  cap- 
tain Cantey;  and  twenty -eighty  Yamassees,  under  cay* 
tuin  Pierce,  being  furnished  with  arms,  joined  the  Caroli- 
nians in  tins  expedition.     Hideous  and  dreadf 
wilderness  through  which  colonel  Rarnwell  ha<! 
To  reach  North  Carolina  in  time  for  the  relief  of  thr 
people,  the  utmost   expedition   was   requisite.     1: 
neither  possible  for  his  men  to  carry  with  them  a  ^ 
ent  quantity  of  provisions,  together  with  arms  an-' 
munition,  nor  to  have  these  things  provided  at  clif 
stages  by  the  way,    Tliero  was  uo  road  through-  u** 


NARRATIVE.  93 

woods  upon  which  either  horses  or  carriages  could  con- 
veniently pass.  His  army  had  to  encounter  all  manner 
of  hardships  and  dangers  "from  the  climate,  the  wilder- 
ness, and  the  enemy.  In  spite  of  every  difficulty  Earn- 
well  advanced,  employing  his  Indian  allies  to  hunt  for 
provisions  on  the  way.  At  length,  having  come  up  with 
the  savages,  he  attacked  them  with  great  execution.  In 
the  first  battle  he  killed  three  hundred  Indians,  and  took 
about  one  hundred  prisoners.  After  which  the  Tuscoro- 
ras  retreated  to  their  town,  within  a  wooden  breast-work. 
There  they  were  surrounded ;  many  of  them  killed,  and 
the  remainder  forced  to  sue  for  peace.  Some  of  Barn- 
well's  men  being  wounded,  and  others  mivirig  suffered 
much  by  watching,  hunger,  and  fatigue,  the  savages  easily 
obtained  their  request.  In  this  expedition  it  was  com- 
puted that  Barnwell  killed,  wounded,  and  captured  near 
a  thousand  Tuscororas.  The  survivors  abandoned  their 
country  and  joined  a  northern  tribe  of  Indians,  on  the 
Ohio  river.  Of  -Barn well's  party,  five  Carolinians  were 
killed  and  several  wounded.  Of  his  Indians,  thirty-six 
were  killed  and  between  sixty  and  seventy  wounded. 
Never  had  any  expedition,  against  the  savages  in  Caroli- 
na, been  attended  with  such  difficulties;  nor  had  the 
conquest  of  any  tribe  of  them  ever  been  more  complete. 

llamsaifs  1L  6'.  Carolina. 


Distressing  situation  of  a  detachment  of  American  troops 
in  the  campaign  against  Quebec,  in  1775. 

WE  arose  before  day  on  the  9th  October.  The  canoes 
were  urged  suddenly  into  the  water.  It  still  rained  hard, 
and  at  daylight  we*  thought  of  breakfasting.  Gracious 
God!  what  was  our  fare?  What  could  we  produce  for 
such  a  least  r  Rummaging  my  breeches  pockets,  1  found 
;i  solitary  biscuit  and  a"h  inch"  of  pork.  Half  of  the  bis- 
cuit was  devoted  to  the  breakfast,  and  so  also  by  each 
person,  end  that  was  consumed  in  the  canoes  as  we 
paddied  over  the  lake.  The  rain  had  raised  the  lake, 
and  consequently,  the  outlets,  about  four  feet.  We 
glided  glibly  along,  over  passages  where  a  few  days  pre- 
y  we  had  toated  our  canoes.  At  the  outlet  "of  the 


94  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

fourth  lake,  counting  as  we.  came  up,  a  small  duck  ap- 
peared within  shooting  distance.  It  was  a  diver,  well 
known  in  our  country — a  thing  which  we  here  contemn. 
Knowing  the  value  of  animal  food  in  our  predicament, 
several  of  us  fired  at  the  diver:  Jesse  Wheeler,  however, 
(who  all  acknowledged  as  an  excellent  shot)  struck  it  with 
his  ball.  A  shout  of  joy  arose  :  the  little  diver  was  safely 
deposited  in  our  canoe.  We  went  on  quickly,  without 
accident,  till  the  evening;  probably  traversing  a  space  of 
more  than  forty  miles.  At  night-fall  we  halted,  weary 
and  without  having  tasted  food  since  morning.  Boyd 
and  Cunningham,  who  were  right  hand  men  on  most  oc- 
casions, soon  kindled  a  fire  against  a  fallen  tree.  An  oc- 
currence this  evening  took  place,  which  you  will  hardly 
credit,  but  which  (permit  me  to  assure  you)  is  sacredly 
true.  The  company  sat  themselves  gloomily  around  this 
fire.  The  cooks,  according  to  routine,  (whether  our  chief 
or  others)  picked  the  duck,  and  when  picked  and  gutted, 
it  was  brought  to  the  fire  side.  Here  it  became  a  ques- 
tion, how  to  make  the  most  of  our  stock  of  provisions. 
Finally,  it  wasconcluededto  boil  the  duck  in  our  camp; 
kettle,  together  with  each  man's  bit  of  pork,  distinctly 
marked  by  running  a  small  skiver  of  wood  through  it, 
with  his  particular  arid  private  designation.  That  the 
broth  thus  formed,  should  be  the  supper,  and  the  duck  on 
the  ensuing  morning,  should  be  the  breakfast,  and  which 
should  be  distributed  by  "  whose  shall  be  this."  Strange 
as  this  tale  may  appear  to  you.  in  these  times,  the  agree- 
ment was  religiously  performed.  Being  young,  my  ap- 
petite was  ravenous  as  that  of  a  wolf,  but  honor  bound 
the  stomach  tightly,  HENRY. 


Ingenious  stratagem  of  an  American  officer. 

WHILE  the  allied  army  was  engaged  before  Savannah^ 
colonel  John  White  of  the  Georgia  line,  conceived  and  ex- 
ecuted  an  extraordinary   enterprise.     Captain  French, 
with  a  small  party  of  British  regulars,  was  stationed  on 
the  Ogeechee  river,  about  twenty-five  miles  from  iv 
nah.     At  the  same  place  lay  five   British   ve?iv 
which  four  were  armed,  the  largest  mounting  fo' 


NARRATIVE.  95 

guns.  White,  having  with  him  only  captain  Etholm  and 
three  soldiers,  kindled  many  fires,  the  illumination  of 
which  was  discernible  at  the  British  station,  exhibiting, 
by  the  manner  of  ranging  them,  the  plan  of  a  camp.  To 
this  stratagem  he  added  another :  he  and  his  four  com- 
rades, imitating  the  manner  of  the  staff,  rode  with  haste  in 
various  directions,  giving  orders  in  a  loud  voice.  French 
became  satisfied  that  a  large  body  of  the  enemy  were 
upon  him  ;  and,  on  being  summoned  by  White,  he  surren- 
dered (1st  of  October)  his  detachment,  the  crews  of  the 
five  vessels,  forty  in  number,  with  the  vessels,  and  one 
hundred  and  thirty  stand  of  arms. 

Colonel  White"  having  succeeded,  pretended  that  he 
must  keep  back  his  troops,  lest  their  animosity,  already 
stilled  by  his  great  exertions,  should  break  out,  and  indis- 
criminate slaughter  take  place,  in  defiance  of  his  author- 
ity; and  that  therefore  he  would  commit  his  prisoners  to 
three  guides,  who  would  conduct  them  safely  to  good 
quarters.  This  humane  attention  on  the  part  of  White 
was  thankfully  received.  He  immediately  ordered  three 
of  his  attendants,  to  proceed  with  the  prisoners*  who 
moved  off  with  celerity,  anxious  to  get  away,  lest  the  fury 
of  White's  corps,  believed  to  be  near  at  hand,  might 
break  out,  much  disposed  as  he  himself  was,  to  restrain  it. 

White,  with  the  soldier  retained  by  him,  repaired,  as 
he  announced  to  his  guides  and  prisoners,  to  his  troops, 
for  the  purpose  of  proceeding  in  the  rear. 

He  now  employed  himself,  in  collecting  the  neigborinoj 
militia,  with  whom  he  overtook  his  guides,  and  their 
charge, safe  and  happy  in  the  good  treatment  they  experi- 
enced. Lee's  Memoirs  of  the  Southern  War. 


Proof  of  a  Welsh  nation  existing  in  America. 

A  WELSHMAN,  by  the  name  of  Griffith,  was  taken 
prisoner,  by  the  Shawnee  Indians,  about  the  year  1764, 
and  conducted  to  their  towns.  His  adventures  were 
made  public  in  1804,  from  which  the  following  particu- 
lars are  abridged. 

Two  years  after  the  captivity  of  Griffith,  five  Shawnees 
resolved  to  penetrate  to  the  source  of  the  Missouri,  and 


96  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER 

they  admitted  him  of  the  party.  They  had  a  long  labori- 
ous journey  to  the  Shining  Mountains,  through  which  the 
Missouri  finds  its  way.  In  these  mountains  they  acci- 
dently  met  with  three  white  men,  in  the  Indian  dress, 
with  whom  they  travelled  for  some  time,  when  they  arriv- 
ed at  their  village,  and  found  the  whole  nation  of  the  same 
complexion.  A  council  was  soon  assembled,  and  the 
question  was  debated  for  three  days,  What  shall  be 
clone  with  the  strangers  ?  It  was  finally  concluded  to  put 
them  to  death,  especially  as  they  appeared  to  belong  to 
a  warlike  nation,  and  were  probably  exploring  the  coun- 
try to  find  out  a  suitable  place  for  the  future  residence  of 
their  friends.  Griffith,  whose  presence  created  no  sus- 
picion, could  remain  silent  no  longer.  He  addressed  the 
council  in  Welsh,  and  explained  the  motives  of  their  jour- 
ney. It  is  needless  to  say  that  full  confidence  was  re- 
stored, and  the  strangers  treated  with  kindnes.  Nothing 
could  be  ascertained  of  their  history,  except  that  their 
forefathers  came  up  the  Missouri,  from  a  very  distant 
country.  There  was  not  a  black  man  in  the  nation, 
which  was  pretty  numerous.  The  party  returned  tr>  the 
Shawnee  towns,  after  an  absence  of  two  years  and  six 
months.  Griffith  soon  made  his  escape,  and  joined  his 
friends  in  the  back  part  of  Virginia. 

Stoddard's  Sketches  of  Louisiana. 


Mr.  TFirt-s  account  of  Patrick  Henry's  first  speech^deliv- 
ered  at  the  bar  of  Hanover  County,  Virginia. 

SOON  after  the  opening  of  the  court,  the  cause  was  cal- 
led. It  stood  on  a  writ  of  enquiry  of  damages,  no  plea 
having  been  entered  by  the  defendants  since  the  judge- 
ment on  the  demurrer.  The  array  before  Mr.  Henry's 
eyes  was  now  most  fearful.  On  the  bench  sat  more  than 
twenty  clergymen,  the  most  learned  men  in  the  colony, 
and  the  most  capable,  as  well  as  severest  critics,  before 
whom  it  was  possible  for  him  to  have  made  his  debut. 
The  court  house  was  crowded  with  an  overwhelming  mul- 
titude, and  surrounded  with  an  immense  and  anxious 
throng,  who, not  finding  room  to  enter,  were  endeavouring 
to  listen  without,  in  the  deepest  attention.  But  the:-. 


N  \RR\TIVE.  97 

was  something  still  more  awfully  disconcerting  than  all 
this;  for  in  the  chair  of  the  presiding  magistrate,  sat  no 
other  person  than  his  own  father.  Mr.  Lyons  opened 
the  cause  very  briefly ;  in  the  way  of  argument  he  did 
nothing  more  than  explain  to  the  jury,  that  the  decision 
upon  the  demurrer  had  put  the  act  of  1758  entirely  out 
of  the  way,  and  left  the  law  of  1748  as  the  only  standard 
of  their  "damages ;  he  then  concluded  with  a  highly 
wrought  eulogium  on  the  benevolence  of  the  clergy.  And 
now  came  on  the  first  trial  of  Patrick  Henry's  strength.- 
No  one  had  ever  heard  him  speak,  and  curiosity  was  on 
tip  toe.  He  rose  very  awkwardly  and  faltered  much  in  his 
exordium.  The  people  hung  their  heads  at  so  unpromis* 
ing  a  commencement ;  the  clergy  were  observed  to  ex- 
change sly  looks  with  each  other  ;  and  his  father  is  de- 
scribed as  having  almost  sunk  with  confusion  from  his 
seat.  But  these  feelings  were  of  short  duration,  and 
soon  gave  place  to  others  of  a  very  different  character. 
For,  now,  were  those  wonderful  faculties  which  he  posses- 
sed, for  the  first  time  developed  ;  and  ROW  was  first  wit- 
nessed that  mysterious  and  almost  supernatural  transfor- 
mation of  appearance,  which  the  fire  of  his  own  eloquence 
never  failed  to  work  in  him.  For  as  his  mind  rolled 
along,  and  began  to  glow  from  its  own  action,  all  the 
ejcuvice  of  the  clown  seemed  to  shed  themselves  spontane- 
ously. His  attitude,  by  degrees,  became  erect  and  lofty. 
The  spirit  of  his  genius  awakened  all  his  features.  His 
countenance  shsne  with  a  nobleness  and  grandeur  which 
it  had  never  before  exhibited.  There  was  a  lightning  in 
his  eyes,  which  seemed  to  rive  the  spectator.  His  action 
became  graceful,  bold, and  commanding ;  and  in  the  tones 
of  his  voice,  but  more  especially  in  his  emphasis,  there 
was  a  peculiar  charm,  a  magic,  of  which  any  one  who  ever 
heard  him  will  speak,  as  soon  as  he  is  named,  but  of 
which  no  one  can  give  any  adequate  description.  They 
can  only  say,  that  it  struck  upon  the  ear  and  upon  the 
heart,  in  a  manner  ichich  language  cannot  tell.  Add  to 
all  these,  his  wonder-working  fancy,  and  the  peculiar 
phraseology  ia  which  he  clothed  his  images ;  for  he 
painted  to  the  heart,  with  a  force  that  almost  petrified  it 
In  the  language  of  those  who  heard  him  on  this  occasion 
"  he  made  their  blood  run  cold,  and  their  hair  to  rise  on 
?nd." 


9a  REPUBLICAN  COMPILE!*. 

It  will  not  be  difficult  for  any  one  who  ever  heard  this 
most  extraordinary  man,  to  believe  the  whole  account  of 
this  transaction,  which  is  given  by  his  surviving  hearers  5 
and  from  their  account*  the  court  house  of  Hanover  coun- 
ty must  have  exhibited  on  this  occasion,  a  scene  as  pic- 
turesque as  has  ever  been  witnessed  in  real  life.  They 
say,  that  the  people,  whose  countenances  had  fallen  as  he 
arose,  had  heard  but  a  very  few  sentences  before  they 
fregan  to  look  up ;  then  to  look  at  each  other  with  surprise, 
as  if  doubting  the  evidence  of  their  own  senses;  then, 
attracted  by  some  strong  gesture,  struck  by  some  majes- 
tic attitude,  fascinated  by  the  spell  of  his  eye,  the  charm 
3f  his  emphasis,  and  the  varied  and  commanding  expres- 
sion of  his  countenance,  they  could  look  away  no  more. 
In  less  than  twenty  minutes,  they  might  be  seen  in  every 
part  of  the  house,  on  every  bench,  in  every  window, 
stooping  forward  from  their  stands,  in  death-like  silence; 
their  features  fixed  in  amazement  and  awe  5  all  their 
senses  listening  and  riveted  upon  the  speaker,  as  if  to 
catch  the  last  strain  of  some  heavenly  visitant.  The 
mockery  of  the  clergy  was  soon  turned  into  alarm  ;  their 
triumph  into  confusion  and  despair ;  and  at  one  burst  of 
his  rapid  and  overwhelming  invective,  they  fled  from  the 
bench  in  precipitation  and  terror.  As  for  the  father, 
?uch  was  his  surprise,  such  his  amazement,  such  his  rap- 
ture, that,  forgetting  where  he  was,  and  the  character 
which  he  was  filling,  tears  of  ecstacy  streamed  down  his 
:heeks,  without  the  power  or  inclination  to  repress  them. 

The  jury  seem  to  have  been  so  completely  bewildered, 
that  they  lost  sight,  not  only  of  tire  act  of  1748,  but  that 
of  1758  also;  for, thoughtless  even  of  the  admitted  right 
of  the  plaintiff,  they  had  scarcely  left  the  bar,  when  they 
jeturned  with  a  verdict  of  one  penny  damages.  A  motion 
was  made  for  a  new  trial ;  but  the  court  too,  had  now 
lost  the  equipoise  of  their  judgement,  and  over-ruled  the 
.•notion  by  an  unanimous  vote.  The  verdict  and  judge- 
ment over-ruling  the  motion,  were  followed  by  redoubled 
acclamations,  from  within  and  without  the  house.  The 
people,  who  had  with  difficulty  kept  their  hands  off  their 
champion,  from  the  moment  of  closing  his  harangue,  no 
sooner  saw  the  fate  of  the  cause  finally  sealed,  thai?  the/ 
seized  him  at  the  bar,  and,  in  spite  of  his  own  exert 
and  the  continued  cry  of"  order"  from  the  sheriff  an- 
«6Urt3  they  bore  him  out  of  the  court  house,  aiul  ru 


NARRATIVE. 

him  on  their  shoulders,  carried  him  about  the  yard,  in  a 
kind  of  electioneering  triumph. 

0  !  what  a  scene  was  this  for  a  father's  heart !  so  sud- 
den ;  so  unlocked  for;   so  delightfully  overwhelming! 
At  the  time,  he  was  notable  to  give  utterance  to  any  sen- 
timent ;  but,  a  few  days  after,  when  speaking  of  it  to  Mr. 
Winston,*  he  said,  with  the  most  engaging  modesty,  and 
with  a  tremor  of  voice,  which  showed  how  much  more  he 
felt  than  he  expressed,  "  Patrick  spoke  in  this  cause  near 
an  hour!  and  in  a  manner  that  surprised  me  !  and  show- 
ed himself  well  informed  on  a  subject,  of  which  1  did  not 
think  he  had  any  knowledge  !" 

1  have  tried  much  to  procure  a  sketch  of  this  celebrated 
speech.     But  those  of  Mr  Henry's  hearers  who  survive, 
seem  to  have  been  bereft  of  their  senses.     They  can  on- 
ly tell  you,  in  general,  that  they  were  taken  captive ; 
and  so  delighted  with  their  captivity,  that  they  followed 
implicitly  whithersoever  he  led  them  :  that,  at  his  bid- 
ding, their  tears  flowed  from  pity,  and  their  cheeks  flush- 
ed with  indignation :  that  when  it  was  over,  they  felt  aa 
if  they  had  just  awaked  from  some  ecstatic   dream,  of 
which  they  were  unable  to  recall  or  connect  the  particu- 
lars.    It  was  such  a  speech,  as  they  believe  had  never 
before  fallen  from  the  lips  of  man  ;  and  to  this  da)r,  the 
old  people  of  that  country  cannot  conceive  that  a  higher 
compliment  can  be  paid  to  a  speaker,  than  to  say  of  him, 
in  their  own  homely  phrase,  "  he  is  almost  equal  to  Pat- 
rick  when  he  plead  against  the  parsons." 

Wirt's  Life  of  Patrick  Henry, 

*  The  present  judge  Winston, 


POPULAR 


Declaration  of  Independence, 

WHEN,  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  no 
cessary  for  one  people,  to  dissolve  the  political  bands 
which  have  connected  them  with  another,  and  to  assume, 
among  the  powers  of  the  earth,  the  separate  and  equal 
station  to  which  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  nature's  God, 
entitle  them,  a  decent  respect  to  the  opinion  of  mankind., 
requires  that  they  should  declare  the  causes  which  impel 
them  to  a  separation. 

We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self  evident ; — that  all  men 
are  created  equal ;  that  they  are  endowed,  by  their  Crea- 
tor, with  certain  unalienable  rights  ;  that  among  these  are 
life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness. — That  to  secure 
these  rights,  governments  are  instituted  among  men,  de- 
riving their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed , 
that  whenever  any  form  of  government  becomes  destruc 
tive  of  these  ends^  it  is  the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or 
abolish  it,  and  to  institute  anew  government,  laying  it> 
foundation  on  such  principles,  and  organizing  its  powers- 
in  such  form,  as  to  them  shall  seem  most  likely  to  effect 
their  safety  and  happiness.— Prudence,  indeed,  will  dic- 
tate, that  governments  long  established,  should  not  be 
changed  for  light  and  transient  causes  ;  and  accordingly 
all  experience  hath  shown  that  ir./inkind  are  more  dispos- 
ed to  suffer,  while  evils  are  sufferable,  than  to  right  them- 
selves by  abolishing  the  forms  to  which  they  are  accus- 
tomed. 'But  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  u 


KEPUBUCAN  COMPILER, 

u  :thly  the  same  object,  evinces  a  design  fo 

reduce  them  under  absolute  despotism,  it  is  their  right,  it 
is  their  duty,  to  throw  off  such  government,  and  to  provide 
new  guards  for  their  future  security.  Such  has  been  the 
faithful  sufferance  of  these  colonies  ;  and  such  is  now  the 
necessity  which  constrains  them  to  alter  their  former  sys- 
tem of  government.  The  history  of  the  present  king  of 
Great  Britain,  is  a  history  of  repeated  injuries  and  usur- 
pations, all  having  in  direct  object,  the  establishment  of 
an  absolute  tyranny  over  these  states.  To  prove  this,  let 
facts  be  submitted  to  a  candid  world. 

He  has  refused  his  assent  to  laws  the  most  wholesome 
and  necessary  for  the  public  good. 

He  has  forbidden  his  governors  to  pass  laws  of  immedi- 
ate and  pressing  importance,  unless  suspended  in  their 
operations  till  his  assent  should  be  obtained ;  and  when 
so  suspended,  he  has  entirely  neglected  to  attend  to 
them. 

He  has  refused  to  pass  other  laws  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  large  districts  of  people,  unless  those  people  would 
relinquish  the  right  of  representation  in  the  legislature  ; 
a  right  inestimable  to  them,  and  formidable  to  tyrants 
only. 

He  has  called  together  legislative  bodies  at  places,  un- 
usual, uncomfortable,  and  distant  from  the  depository  of 
their  public  records,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  fatiguing 
them  into  a  compliance  with  his  measures. 

He  has  dissolved  representative  houses  repeatedly,  for 
opposing  with  manly  firmness,  his  invasions  on  the  rights 
of  the  people. 

He  has  refused  for  a  long  time  after  such  dissolutions,, 
to  cause  others  to  be  elected;  whereby  the  legislative 
powers,  incapable  of  annihilation,  have  returned  to  the 
people  at  large  for  their  exercise;  the  state  remaining  in 
the  mean  time  exposed  to  the  danger  of  invasions  from 
without,  and  convulsions  within. 

He  has  endeavoured  to  prevent  the  population  of  these 
states  ;  for  that  purpose  obstructing  the  laws  for  natural- 
izati.»n  of  foreigners  ;  refusing  to  pass  others  to  encour- 
age their  emigration  hither;  and  raising  the  conditions  of 
new  appropriations  of  kinds. 

He  has  obstructed  the  administration  af  justice,  by 
Fefusinghis  assent  to  laws  for  establishing  judiciary  pow- 
ers. 


POPULAR,  40$ 

He  has  made  judges  dependent  on  his  will  alone,  for 
the  tenure  of  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment 
of  their  salaries 

He  has  erected  a  multitude  of  new  offices,  and  sent 
hither  swarms  of  officers,  to  harrass  our  people,  and  eat 
out  their  substance. 

He  has  kept  among  us,  in  times  of  peace,  standing  ar- 
mies without  the  consent  of  our  legislatures. 

He  has  affected  to  render  the  military  independent  of, 
and  superior  to,  the  civil  power. 

He  has  combined  with  others,  to  subject  us  to  a  ju- 
risdiction foreign  to  our  constitution,  and  unacknowledg- 
«*d  by  our  laws ;  giving  his  assent  to  their  acts  of  pretend- 
ed legislation. 

For  quartering  large  bodies  of  armed  troops  among  us : 
For  protecting  them,  by  a  mock  trial,  from  punishment 
for  any  murders  which  they  should  commit  on  the  inhab- 
itants of  these  states : 

For  cutting  oft*  our  trade  from  all  parts  of  the  world : 
For  imposing  taxes  on  us  without  our  consent: 
For  depriving  us,  in  many  cases,  of  the  benefits  of  trial 
by  jury. 

For  transporting  us  beyond  seas  to  be  tried  for  pre- 
tended  offences : 

For  abolishing  the  free  system  of  English  laws  in  a 
neighboring  province,  establishing  therein  an  arbitrary 
government,  and  enlarging  its  boundaries,  so  as  to  ren- 
der  it  at  once  an  example  and  fit  instrument  for  introduc- 
ing the  same  absolute  rule  into  these  colonies  : 

For  taking  away  our  charters,  abolishing  our  most 
valuable  laws,  and  altering  fundamentally  the  form  of  our 
governments  : 

For  suspending  our  own  legislatures,  and  declaring 
themselves  invested  with  power  to  legislate  for  us  in  ail 
cases  whatsoever. 

He  has  abdicated,  government  here,  by  declaring  us 
out  of  his  protection,  and  waging  war  against  rs. 

He  has  plundered  our  seas,  ravaged  our  coasts,  burnt 
our  towns,  and  destroyed  the  lives  of  our  people. 

He  is  at  this  time  transporting  large  armies  of  foreign 
mercenaries,  to  complete  the  works  of  death,  deso^tion 
and  tyranny,  already  begun  with  circumstances  of  cruel- 
ty and  perfidity,  scarcely  parallelled  in  the  most  barbar- 


104  REPQBLICA^COMPILEH. 

ous  ages,  and  totally  unworthy  the  heart  of  a  civilized 
nation. 

He  has  constrained  our  fellow  citizens  taken  captive  on 
the  high  seas,  to  bear  arms  against  their  country,  to  be- 
come the  executioners  of  their  friends  and  brethren,  or  to 
fall  themselves  by  their  hands. 

He  has  excited  domestic  insurrection  amongst  us,  and 
has  endeavoured  to  bring  on  the  inhabitants  of  our  fron- 
tiers, the  merciless  Indian  savages,  whose  known  rule  of 
warfare,  is  an  undistinguished  destruction  of  all  ages, 
sexes,  and  conditions. 

In  every  stage  of  these  oppressions  we  have  petitioned 
for  redress,  in  the  most  humble  terms :  our  repeated  peti- 
tions have  been  answered  only  by  repeated  injury.  A 
Prince,  whose  character  is  thus  marked  by  every  act 
which  may  define  a  tyrant,  is  unfit  to  be  the  ruler  of  a 
free  people. 

Nor  have  we  been  wanting  in  attention  to  our  British 
brethren. 

We  have  warned  them  from  time  to  time,  of  attempts, 
by  their  legislature,  to  extend  an  unwarrantable  jurisdic- 
tion over  us. 

"We  have  reminded  them  of  the  circumstances  of  our 
emigration  and  settlement  here. 

We  have  appealed  to  their  native  justice  and  magna- 
nimity ;  and  we  have  conjured  them,  by  the  ties  of  our 
common  kindred,  to  disavow  those  usurpations,  which 
would  inevitably  interrupt  our  connections  and  corres- 
pondence. They  too  have  been  deaf  to  the  voice -ef  jus- 
tice and  of  consanguinity.  We  must,  therefore,  acqui- 
esce in  the  necessity,  which  denounces  our  seperation, 
and  hold  them,  as  we  hold  the  rest  of  mankind,  enemies 
in  war,  in  peace,  friends. 

We  therefore,  the  representatives  of  the  United  States 
of  America  in  General  Congress  assembled,  appealing  to 
the  Supreme  Judge  of  the  world,  for  the  rectitude  of  our 
intentions,  do,  in  the\  name,  and  by  the  authority  of  the 
good  people  of  these  colonies,  solemnly  PUBLISH  and  DE- 
CLARE, that  these  united  colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought 
to  be,  FREE  and  INDEPENDENT  STATES;  and  that  they 
are  absolved  from  all  allegiance  to  the  British  crown ; 
and  that  all  political  connection  between  them  and  the 
state  of  Great  Britain,  is,  and  ought  to  be,  totally  dissolv- 
ed 5  and  that*  as  Free  and  Independent  states,  they  have 


POPULAR.  103 

full  po\ver  to  levy  war,  conclude  peace,  contract  allian- 
ces, establish  commerce,  and  do  all  other  acts  and  things 
which  independent  states  may  of  right  do.  And  for  the 
support  of  this  Declaration,  \vithafirm  reliance  on  Di- 
vine Providence,  we  mutually  pledge  to  each  other,  our 
Ives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honour. 

JOHN  HANCOCK. 
(Signed  by  all  the  Members  present. ) 
JULY  4;  1776. 


Eulogy  on  the  illustrious  GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  pro- 
nounced at  Milton,  ZZd  February,  1800: — By  Charles 
Pinclcney  Sumner. 

INDUSTRY  pauses  from  her  once  cheering  labours — 
the  solemn  dirge  takes  place  of  the  song  of  mirth ; — our 
country  is  in  tears,  her  WASHINGTON  is  no  more ! 

This  day,  she  would  fondly  have  numbered  sixty-eight 
years,  since  propitious  Heaven,  regardful  of  her  coming 
trials,  had  given  him  to  her  aid  :  proud  that  he  had  ful- 
filled his  high  destination,  and  still  continued  her  faith- 
ful defender,  she  would  not  have  turned  a  melancholy 
thought  to  the  perils  through  which  he  had  conducted 
her.  The  lively  cannon  would  have  been  but  the  faint 
echo  to  '.er  joy • ;  the  festal  board,  the  sparkling  glass,  and 
pleasure-beaming  eye,  would  have  been  but  the  feeble  em- 
blem of  national  hilarity.  Henceforth,  the  night  of  his 
death  will  be  consecrated  to  sorrow,  and  shrouded  in 
gloom,  congenial  with  the  majesty  of  her  grief.  The  an- 
nual return  of  this  once  joyful  day,  will  long  be  sacred 
to  her  most  tender,  loved  sensations;  and  the  smile  her 
countenance  may  learn  to  resume,  will  receive  a  melting 
charm  from  the  tear  she  cannot  suppress. 

When  fame,  with  swollen  eye,  first  announced  this 
public  calamity  5  we  looked,  we  heard  with  a  melancholy 
sigh  ;  and  because  she  trembled  as  she  spoke,  we  induc- 
ed ourselves  to  hope  that  report  might  prove  illusive, 
But  this  uncertainty,  this  painful  uncertainty,  was  too 
much  to  endure;  the  solemn  knell,  the  deep  and  uni- 
versal aspect  of  woe,  soon  placed  beyond  the  reach  of 
hope,  what  our  boding  hearts  feared  but  too  true, 


106  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Here  is  a  subject,  my  friends,  upon  which  you  all  can 
be  eloquent;  it  becomes  the  sacred  place  devoted  to  its 
contemplation;  it  excites  the  best,  and  awakens  the 
noblest  feelings  of  Americans  :  as  they  prize  their  coun- 
try, they  cherish  the  memory  of  her  hero,  and  love 
at  a  respectful,  admiring  distance,  to  follow  him  through 
the  vicissitudes  of  her  fate. 

With  a  mind  expanded  by  the  most  liberal  pursuits,  a 
heart  enamoured  with  the  charms  of  honour,  devotion  to 
his  country  was  his  first,  his  ruling  passion.  From  an 
early  military  career,  he  retired  with  a  blooming  reputa- 
tion, to  the  best  well-earned  enjoyment  of  life.  With 
easy  dignity,  he  loses  the  soldier  in  the  citizen,  and 
graces  the  arts  of  peace  as  well  as  war.  Born  for  the 
universe,  a  province  is  too  small  a  theatre  for  the  display 
of  his  talents ;  and  the  situation  of  our  country,  soon 
opened  the  mightier  field  of  his  destiny. 

With  conscious  pride,he  gloried  in  the  prosperity  of 
his  king  and  country:  but  for  colonial  degradation  and 
subserviency,  he  had  not  drawn  his  ready,  his  victorious 
sword.  American  patience  had  been  put  to  the  intoler- 
able test ;  the  plain  of  Lexington  had  drank  the  blood 
of  its  peaceful  cultivators ;  when  from  that  illustrious 
band  of  patriots,  where  first  concentrated  the  wounded 
sensibilities  of  our  country — is  WASHINGTON  commis- 
sioned to  marshal  and  direct  the  rising  energies  of  free- 
dom. 

It  is  a  needless,  as  it  would  be  a  painful  task,  to  dwell 
on  facts  all  know  too  well ;  or  to  resuscitate  the  feelings 
that  are  better  at  rest.  Suffice  it  to  remind  you,  that 
yonder  hills,  almost  in  sight,  first  received  the  American 
hero  to  the  toils  of  fame. 

Retaining  still  the  vestiges  of  war,  they  will  lecture 
succeeding  generations,  and  teach  them  to  guard  their 
native  soil  from  every  insidious,  selfish  friend,  or  haugh- 
ty foe :  their  wounded  fronts  will  frown  on  degeneracy, 
if  every  hill  in  America  does  not  rise  like  the  Heights 
of  Dorchester,  to  expel  invasion  from  our  indignant 
shores. 

In  the  presence  of  WASHINGTON,  resistance  assumed 
a  formidable  attitude ;  confidence  looked  cheerful ;  and 
valour  re-nerved  the  arm,  still  bleeding  from  the  carnage 
where  WARREN  fell.  'But  the  too  transient  duration  of 
patriotic  fervour — the  genius  of  our  valient  thousands, 


POPULAR.  10V 

too  unfriendly  to  the  restraints  of  discipline — the  pover- 
ty and  unpreparedness  of  the  Colonies,  to  meet  the  in- 
calculable extent  of  their  object,  created  anxieties  and 
embarrassments,  which  very  few  were  permitted  to 
share;  which  no  one  perhaps,  who  does  not,  like  him, 
combine  in  his  character,  the  talents  and  feelings  of  the 
statesman,  the  patriot,  and  the  soldier,  can  duly  appre- 
ciate. 

The  hero's  mind  rose  with  the  magnitude  of  his  task. 
Opposition  and  defeat  itself,  served  only  to  confirm  his 
resolution,  and  call  forth  the  resources  of  an  exhaustless 
mind.  Independence  was  declared:  and  in  the  blackest 
hours  of  disaster,  WASHINGTON  never  despaired  of  his 
country. — Once,  only,  (forgive  him  freemen.)  ere  his 
army  had  become  inured  to  the  well  directed  vollies 
of  discipline,  the  yielding  ranks  ot  his  retreating  sol- 
diery displayed  the  frightful  impressions  of  a  veteran  en- 
emy;— for  one  painful  moment,  he  thought  all  was  lost; 
— that  Americans  were  unworthy  the  freedom  for  which 
they  too  feebly  contended ;  and,  shocked  to  despera- 
tion, wished  by  a  fortunate,  honourable  death,  to  free 
himself  from  the  intolerable  spectacle  of  his  country  en- 
slaved. 

When  terror  spread  her  darkest  clouds  over  our  land  ; 
when  an  unfed,  unclothed  army  marked  the  ice  and  the 
snow  with  the  blood  of  their  retreating  footsteps;  when 
the  sword  of  destruction  seemed  suspended  only  by  a 
hair;  while  rumour,  with  her  hundred  mouths,  if  possi- 
ble, magnified  our  distresses ;  and  tortured,  languishing 
hope,  almost  breathed  her  last: — the  brilliant  achieve- 
ment at  Princeton,  turned  aside  the  current  of  fate ;  the 
accomplished,  too  sanguine  Burgoyne,  is  overwhelmed 
in  the  rising  tide  of  our  fortune  ;  the  close  invested  stan- 
dards of  York-Town  droop  submission  to  the  allied 
arms ;  deluded  despotism  soon  gave  up  the  fruitless  toils 
of  subjugation;  the  shattered  remnants  of  baffled  inva- 
sion are  withdrawn,  and  independence  is  confirmed. 

The  patriot  army  now  felt  the  too  scanty,  delusive  re- 
compense for  their  heroic  toils; — seven  years  with  joyful 
obedience,  had  they  heard  the  orders  of  their  chief,  thun- 
der along  the  embattled  line :  the  wounds  of  injured 
bravery  bled  afresh;  they  recoiled  at  the  idea  of  dissolu- 
tion. Then  might  ambition  have  seen  his  time,  and  smil- 
3d;  then  would  have  trembled  the  liberties  of  America* 


108  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER 

had  WASHINGTON  aspired  to  any  other  crown  titan  li*.-- 
happiness.  In  language  ardent  as  his  heroism,  tender  as 
his  affection,  he  appeals  to  their  untarnished  honour;  they 
revere  him  as  a  father: — the  appeal  was  resistless.  They 
saw  the  conflicting  emotions  of  his  breast;  those  eyes 
which  had  long  witnessed  their  toils,  which  had  often 
smiled  at  their  glory,  and  wept  at  their  sufferings,  with 
keen  anxiety,  now  pierced  their  souls ;  they  forgot  them- 
selves:— a  pearly  tear  steals  down  their  cheek;  the  lat- 
ent evil  spark  is  quenched;  their  patriotism  reflames; 
with  one  heart  and  voice,  they  resolve  to  confide  in  the 
justice  of  the  country  they  had  left  all  to  serve,  and  give 
the  world  the  illustrious,  rare  example,  of  "  an  army  vic- 
torious over  its  enemies,  victorious  over  itself." 

His  farewell  interview  with  these,  his  dear-loved  com- 
panions, can  now  be  faintly  imagined  : — How  he  stood, 
liow  he  looked,  when  each  advanced  to  take  the  last 
friendly  impassioned  embrace:  when  with  a  glass  in  his 
hand,  and  tears  glistening  in  his  eyes,  he  wished  to  each, 
his  future  life  might  be  happy,  as  his  past  had  been  hon- 
ourable;— let  those  speak  who  have  witnessed,  let  those 
attempt  to  describe  who  feel  themselves  equal  to  the 
melting  scene. 

The  war-worn  veteran,  whose  feelings  have  not  rust- 
ed with  his  sword,  will  relate  the  story  to  his  listening 
son ; — smile  to  see  his  warm  heart  susceptive  to  the  touch 
of  glory — and  fondly  destine  him  for  that  profession,  of 
which  no  dalliance  in  the  lap  of  ease,  has  obliterated 
ihe  charms,  no  reverse  of  fortune  allayed  his  admira- 
tion. 

Americans,  what  a  vast  weight  of  your  revolution  did 
this  man  sustain!  Taxes  were  indeed  great,  were  bur- 
densome; but  think  how  often  your  army  was  obliged  to 
evade  a  decisive  blow;  think  of  the  complicated  hard- 
ships they  endured,  (the  relation  of  which  might  make 
you  shudder)— because  the  flame  of  public  spirit  too  soon 
died  away,  and  the  resources  of  the  country  had  become 
inaccessible. 

What  must  WASHINGTON  have  often  felt.  Every  eye 
in  America,  in  wondering,  doubtful  Europe,  was  fixt  on 
him.  He  was  a  man  of  humanity;  not  a  centinei  felt  a 
grievance  he  did  not  painfully  com misse rate.  He  was 
a  man  of  consummate  bravery;  and  to  add  to  the  full 
measure  of  his  calamity,  the  country  whose  fate  war. 


POPULAR.  105 

hourly  in  his  hand,  began  to  murmur,  to  reproach  him 
with  "delay.  Delicate  situation!  unconquerable  great- 
ness of  soul !  Mis  reputation,  dearer  to  a  soldier  than 
life,  he  sacrificed  to  your  good. 

Americans,  the  hostile  cannon  has  ceased  to  shake  your 
houses  and  your  hills ;  the  falling  shell,  no  more  with  hor- 
rid glare,  swells  the  terrors  of  the  night; — (think  one  mo- 
ment in  peace,  of  the  untold  distresses  that  might,  that 
would  have  been  your  portion,  had  not  your  toils  for  free- 
dom been  crowned  with  success.  The  Rubicon  was  pass- 
ed ;  the  hour  of  compromise  elapsed.  WASHINGTON! 
the  heart  recoils  at  his  fate,  and  resigns  it  to  your  own 
imaginations.  As  for  you — you  might  have  received  his 
majesty's  most  gracious  pardon — might  have  reposed  in 
the  tranquil  despair  of  subjugated  India — or  been  blest 
with  the  liberty,  fender  which  distracted,  bleeding  Ire- 
land now  groans;  Cornwallis,  might  here,  instead  of 
there,  have  been  governing  the  Provinces  his  myrmidons 
had  ravaged;  which  his  presumptuous  imagination  had 
fondly  marked  out  as  an  empire  for  himself! 

Happy  countrymen !  retire  to  your  homes,  however 
humble;  enjoy  your  peace,  your  competence  and  your 
love ! — kiss  the  children  that  throng  around  your  knee, 
and  teach  them  to  bless  God,  that  they  are  not  born  to 
the  inheritance  of  slavery;  nor  doomecl  to  the  horrors  of 
mutual  destruction ! 

Surrendering  his  commission, and  bidding  adieu  to  pub- 
lic life,  WASHINGTON,  amid  the  gratulations  of  thousands 
through  ways  strewed  with  flowers,  retired  to  those  peace- 
ful shades,  of  which  long  absence  and  mighty  cares  had 
heightened  the  enjoyment. 

He  retired  ;  but  he  did  not  retire  within  himself.  His 
mind  was  intent  to  bless  his  fellow -men.  Unprotected 
worth  found  in  him  a  warm  patron  and  friend.  Poverty 
repressed  her  sigh,  forgot  injustice,  and  smiled  compla- 
cent on  the  bounty  of  his  soul.  The  public  welfare  was 
still  the  darling  object  of  his  heart,  and  whatever  could 
promote  it,  it  was  his  chief  happiness  to  pursue. 

The  picture  which  our  common  country  presented  on 
the  attainment  of  peace,  is  fresh  in  every  mind.  Her 
victory  had  secured  her  freedom,  but  such  a  freedom,  as 
secured  too  few  of  the  blessings  of  social  life,  and 
threatened  to  be  of  short  duration.  The  states  breathed 
Uard  from  their  struggle,  and  exhausted  with  the  burden 

K 


iiO  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

and  heat  of  the  revolutionary  day,  were  divesting  them- 
selves of  the  bands  of  a  too  feeble  confederation ;  and 
fast  dissolving  into  imbecility  and  disgrace.  Fdth  was 
worn  out;  credit  had  been  swoln  till  it  had  burst;  jus- 
tice, not  only  blind,  but  deaf  and  dumb,  with  scales  re- 
versed and  blunted  sword,  could  neither  help  feer  votaries 
nor  protect  herself;  the  defenders  of  their  country  al- 
most addressed  themselves  to  her  compassion  ;  the  poor 
soldier  begged  his  bread  through  the  land  he  had  saved  ; 
and  the  fair,  but  trembling  fabric  of  society,  almost 
threatened  ruin  to  those  it  scarcely  sheltered. 

The  prescient  sage  of  Mount  Vernonhad  foreseen  these 
approaching  evils,  and  early  recommended  to  the  several 
states,  the  adoption  of  such  general  measures,  as  could 
alone  give  permanence  to  the  national  felicity,  that  inde- 
pendence put  within  their  reach. 

The  body  politic  still  survived  healthful  and  strong  in 
the  feelings,  manners  and  principles,  which  immemorial 
virtuous  habit  had  incorporated  into  her  nature.  The 
hectic  of  internal  faction  had  scarcely  enfeebled  her  vitals, 
nor  had  foreign  intrigue  assumed  the  hardihood  to  se- 
duce her  from  herself,  and  tear  her  limb  from  limb. 

At  length,  "  in  order  to  form  a  more  perfect  union, 
establish  justice,  insure  domestic  tranquility,  provide 
for  the  common  defence,  promote  the  general  welfare, 
and  secure  the  blessing  of  liberty;"  the  Federal  Consti- 
tution of  the  United  States,  the  result  of  his  presiding 
wisdom,  was  adopted,  as  it  was  formed  in  "  a  spirit  of 
amity,  and  of  that  mutual  deference  and  concession, 
which  the  peculiarity  of  our  political  situation  rendered 
Indispensable."  God  grant  that  in  this  spirit  it  be  long 
preserved,  that  so  it  may  preserve  those  for  whose  boon 
it  was  designed. 

At  the  unanimous  call  of  his  fellow-citizens,  which  he 
could  never  hear  but  with  duty  and  respect,  he  relin- 
quishes every  private  consideration  to  make  a  people 
happy.  Laborious  days  and  sleepless  nights  are  now  his 
welcome  portion  :  the  government  of  your  choice  com- 
mences its  auspicious  operation,  and  WASHINGTON  pre- 
sides. Say,  did  not  then  every  countenance  look  con- 
tentment; every  dwelling  speak  prosperity,  and  your 
fields  assume  a  more  luxuriant  smile  ?  Commerce,  then 
safe  in  her  innocence,  spread  your  rising  name  to  the  bor- 
ders of  the  earthj  and  wafted  you  the  productions  of  eveVy 


POPULAR  >  lit* 

clime.  You  rapidly  grew  the  envy  of  the  world  ;  were 
acknowledged  happiest,  as  freest,  of  mankind,  and 
disappointed  the  doating  wish  of  those,  who  seek  with 
eagle  eye,  in  the  miscarriage  of  republics,  a  pretext  for 
the  enormities  of  despotism. 

Americans,  this  is  a  trait  of  the  enchanting  picture 
which  Europe  admired,  confessed  was  yours,  and  kindled 
into  freedom,  while  she  viewed.  Will  you  disclaim  it  ? 
does  too  close  inspection  and  intimacy  with  the  original 
destroy  its  truth?  is  it  too  highly  coloured? — Alas! 
WASHINGTON  was  not  omnipotent !  Earth  is  not  a  para- 
dise ! 

For  eight  years  he  conducted  the  bark  of  state  ;  the 
political  sky  was  tempestuous;  the  winds  and  waves 
were  sometimes  unhappily  in  adverse  direction;  her 
path  was  untraversed,  and  various  winds  prevailing  with 
regard  to  her  course;  many  seemed  more  disposed  to 
council  the  pilot  than  obey  his  orders.  Strict  justice  was 
the  compass  by  which  he  steered  ;  he  respected  the 
wishes  of  all,  and  never  went  counter  to  the  advice  of 
those  whom  it  was  his  duty  to  consult ;  amid  innumerable 
difficulties,  the  way  of  safety  was  that  of  glory.  Sedul- 
ously regarding  the  interests  of  all,  he  relied  with  just 
confidence  on  the  attachment  of  an  omnipotent  majority. 
With  the  conscious  invulnerability  of  virtue,  he  pardoned 
the  harmless;  expected  aspersions  of  the  unworthy  ;  and 
pursued  the  firm  resolve  of  his  unbiassed,  equal  mind* 
The  arduous  difficulties  of  republican  elevation  were  at 
length  appreciated ;  and  all  acquiesced  in  his  decree. 
Having  navigated  her  through  the  dangers  of  her  out  set, 
accustomed  her  powers  to  the  gale,  and  done  all  tbat 
human  wisdom  and  integrity  could  effect,  if  not  all  that 
extravagance  could  wish  ;  he  gave  affectionate  farewell  • 
advice  to  those  on  board,  well  calculated  to  make  them 
wise  unto  salvation;  and  resigning  the  helm  to  able, 
faithful,  experienced  hands,  sought  the  tranquil  privacy 
which  a  far  spent  glorious  life,  had  rendered  "  as  neces- 
sary as  welcome." 

But  his  feelings  were  too  keen  for  his  happiness*     Our  • 
rich,  unprotected  commerce,  on  all  sides,  falling  a  devot- 
ed prey ;   our  country   meeting  the  indignity  abroad, 
which  her  upright,  pacific  policy  had  not  deserved,  and  • 
compelled  to  assume  a  defensive  posture;  her  WASHING- 
TON is  still  himself.  Though  mighty  cares  had  impaired  his. 


312  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

strength,  the  venerable  sage  with  ready  hand  resumes 
his  faithful  swfrd — that  sword,  whose  unsullied  justice 
did  "blind  men  with  its  beams,?V-and,  like  that  of  Eden, 
£ame  every  way  to  guard  invaded  right— America  was 
in  array;  for  who  would  not  throng  the  standard  he 
would  raise — who  would  not  croud  the  ranks  of  war  in 
the  cause  for  which  WASHINGTON  would  contend  ? 

Here  was  the  last  stage  of  his  loag  career  of  renown. 
The  pride  of  his  country,  the  wonder  of  mankind  has, 
like  a  soldier  obeyed  the  high  summons  of  the  God  of  ar- 
mies. His  associates  in  the  toils  of  glory  were  hourly 
falling.  He  stood  almost  alone  on  the  field  of  fame,  and 
was  prepared  for  the  expected  stroke  of  fate.  The  calm 
fortitude  and  presence  of  mind  with  which  he  had  often 
withstood  the  shock  of  battle,  did  not  forsake  him  in  his 
last  unequalled,  triumphant  conflict. 

The  worthy,  disconsolate  partner  of  his  heart,  we  thank 
for  the  life-long  smile  with  which  she  smoothed  his 
brow ;  and  gave  his  magnanimous  cares  to  the  service  of 
his  country.  We  wish  her  every  consolation  earth  or 
heaven  can  bestow.  May  the  decline  of  her  life's  mild 
day  be  gilded  with  the  sunshine  of  the  soul,  and  future 
generations  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed !  Her  fellow 
labourers  in  war  and  peace,  we  thank  for  the  persevering 
fortitude  and  wisdom  with  which  they  aided  our  beloved 
chief;  they  have  claims  on  us  which  we  cannot  cancel, 
but  with  glory 5 — which  grateful,  admiring  posterity  will 
be  too  proud  to  evade.  Here  he  lived  ;  to  these  we  re- 
sign, with  painful  sympathy,  the  sad  pre-eminence  of 
grief.  But,  my  fellow-countrymen,  we  were  all  near 
and  dear  to  him — and  his  memory  shall  endure— -shall  be 
revered  forever. 

Epght  must  be  the  talents  that  presume  to  illustrate 
one  action  of  his  life.  The  unanimity  with  which  he 
was  twice  elected  President;  the  universal,  deep-felt 
regret,  when  he  declined  their  future  suffrages  ;  the  con- 
stant devoted  ness  to  his  fellow-citizens,  which  no  period 
of  his  life  ceased  to  manifest ;  and  the  deep  aspect  of  sor- 
row this  day  presents  ; — these  all  designate  the  man  who, 
mo&t  pre-eminently,  united  all  hearts;  they;  speak  his 
only  adequate,  exalted  eulogy,  and  declare,  in  language 
unequivocally  loud,  a  nation's  unabated  confidence  and 
love.  To  praise  him  in  any  audience  the  world  could  pro- 
duce, would  be  a  dull  display  of  arrogance ;  with  Anaeri 


30PULA&  113 

cans  it  would  be  intolerable;  for  who  does  not  love  his 
country  and  revere  her  best  earthly  benefactor?  who  can- 
not see  the  sun  in  the  firmament  ?  who  cannot  hear  tlie 
thunder  of  the  sky  ?  The  taper  only  deadens  itself  that 
presumes  to  increase  the  splendour  of  noon-day. 

What  is  the  noble  endowment  he  did  not  possess? 
With  an  urbanity  that  treated  with  the  most  obliging  re- 
spect those  from  whose  opinion  he  could  not  but  dissent  5 
and  with  a  prudence  that  in  any  other  character  might 
well  have  compensated  the  greatest  moral  deficiency,  he 
marshalled  the  phalanx  of  his  virtues  to  the  benefit  of  his 
fellow-men.  The  spirit  of  republicanism  almost  resigned 
to  him  the  sceptre  of  your  affections;  he -ruled  in  your 
hearts.  Our  history  is  scarcely  more  than  his  biography, 
our  freedom  and  happiness  the  noblest,  we  trust  unfad- 
ing, picture  of  his-  services  and  virtues. 

What  was  once  WASHINGTON  has  been  deposited 
with  every  testimonial  of  gratitude  our  country  can  be- 
stow :  On  this  occasion  only  does  she  lament  her  republi- 
can simplicity,  unequal  to  her  pomp  of  woe;  but  she 
consoles  herself,  wherein  her  magnificence  has  been  defi- 
cient, her  affection  has  been  transcendant ;  and  that  her 
hero  has  departed  with  a  lustre  that  kings  may  sigh  ibiy 
')ut  sigh  in  vain. 

The  Sun  of  Glory  is  set ;  the  hemisphere  is  darkened  ; 
smaller  luminaries  may  now  rise  and  shine:  the  Sun  of 
*  riory  is  set :  but  his  course  is  bright  with  inextinguisha- 
ble beams.  He  has  thrown  light  on  most  beclouded  re- 
gions, and  taught  mankind  the  dignity  of  man.  Illustrious 
nation,  over  whom  he  has  shone,  to  whose  temperament 
his  mild  radiance  was  congenial;- — happy  those,  who,  in 
other  climes  attempting  to  .move  in  his  orbit,  neither  con- 
sume themselves  nor  their  country  in  the  flame  they 
raise,  but  cannot  controuK 

Thrice  blest  mankind,  whose  liberty  can  wear  a  tear- 
'ess  smile,  and  virtue  trust  her  constant  friends. 

The  shades  of  Vernon,  to  remotest  time,  will  be  trod 
with  awe ;  the  banks  of  Potomac  will  be  hallowed 
ground..  The  aged  oak  shall  sigh  plaintive  in  the  breeze.* 
The  little  skiff  shall  suspend  the  labouring  oar,  and  m 
soft  melancholy  twilight,  glide  in  silence  by  the  sacred 
Spot,  where  drooping  willows  mark  the  sage's  tomb.  The 
alert  seaman,  while  his  well  trimmed. bark  moves  maje.s- 


114  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

tic  on  the  moaning  wave,  shall  with  proud  respect.,  strike 
the  topsail  he  has  reared  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe. 

In  some  far  distant  commercial  port,  our  fellow-coun- 
trymen hail  this  day  with  joy.  The  flags  of  all  nations 
lightly  wave  from  a  forest  of  masts  ;  all  is  gaity.  Around 
the  bounteous  board,  they  wish  health  and  long  life  to  him, 
whose  name  on  their  sea-letter  has  served  them  instead 
of  cannon,  insuring  them  respect  wherever  they  display- 
ed the  American  stars.  Some  neighbouring  fortress 
shakes  the  friendly  coast  with  its  responsive  roar;  the 
sons  of  Columbia  cast  a  long  look  of  filial  respect  to  their 
native  land,  and  unconscious  of  the  mournful  spectacle 
she  now  presents, — rejoice  that  her  defender  lives! — 
Good  souls  !  let  them  enjoy  the  passing  hour  of  mirth, 
"  where  ignorance  is  bliss  'tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

Illustrious  man !  in  what  region  of  the  earth  has  not 
thy  name  been  heard  with  praise  ?  Posterity  shall  admire 
and  love  thee : — And  if  in  the  vast  orb  of  thy  glory, 
our  darkened  optics  can  descry  a  spot,  we  trust  it  will, 
like  those  of  the  sun,  be  soon  absorbed  in  thy  pure  efful- 
gence. The  temporary  clouds,  which  for  thy  country,, 
thou  hast  permitted  to  obscure  thy  deeds,  time  will  soon 
dispel,  and  thy  fame  will  brighten  with  the  flight  of 
years. 

Americans,  for  a  life  devoted  to  your  service,  what 
does  WASHINGTON  deserve?  The  rising  trophied  co- 
lumn shall  from  far  attract  the  admiring  eye.  The  en- 
during statue  with  emulating  care  will  present  to  rever- 
ing posterity  his  august  attitude  and  awtul  form.  His- 
tory shall  be  immortal  as  just  to  his  worth.  Poesy  shall 
robe  him  in  unborrowed  charms.  A  city,  after  the  ma- 
jestic  model  of  his  mind,  bearing  his  name,  shall  concen- 
trate our  national  glory,  as  he  does  our  affection.  These 
a  grateful  empire  will  voluntarily  pay:  but,  he  deserves 
more ;  he  deserves  the  enly  reward  he  would  ever  ac- 
cept; he  deserves  that  you  would  be  faithful  to  your- 
selves,  that  you  be  free,  united  and  happy  :  that  party  as- 
perity from  this  memorable  day  subside;  and  all,  with 
liberal  eye,  seek  private  interest  in  the  common  weal. 

Thus  shall  your  elective  government,  the  true  mirror 
of  the  general  will,  present  an  image  that  can  never  be 
disowned,  and  j^illions  rise,  a  standing  army  in  defence 
of  the  constitonon  and  laws*  by  which  they  are  blest.  In  - 
surrectioD;  from  the  qiuet  sleep  of  deatn?  will  pot  rear 


POPULAK, 

her  devoted  head  5  invasion  never  dream  of  your  shores, 
or  be  appalled  at  the  view.  Peace  at  home  will  insure 
invincibility  abroad.  You  shall  fear  no  shock  but  that  of 
the  universe.  The  old  worthies,  who,  with  WASHING 
TON  illumed  and  cherished  the  tempered,  undying  flame 
of  freedom,  shall  never  shake  their  white  locks,  and  sigh 
that  their  labours  have  been  in  vain.  Your  union  shall 
subsist  to  everlasting  generations,  the  best,  the  deserved 
MONUMENT  of  his  tame,  who  led  the  army  that  achieved 
your  independence  5  who  presided  in  the  councils  that 
commenced  your  endless  career  of  happiness. 

Eulogies  and  Orations, 


Speech  of  Mr.  Marshall,  in  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States,  on  the  death  of  General  Washington. 

THE  melancholy  event  which  was  yesterday  announce 
ed  with  doubt,  has  been  rendered  but  too  certain.  Our 
Washington  is  no  more.  The  hero,  the  patriot,  and  the 
sage  of  America;  the  man  on  whom,  in  times  of  danger, 
every  eye  was  turned,  and  all  hopes  were  placed,  lives 
now  onfy  in  his  own  great  actions,  and  in  the  hearts  of  an 
affectionate  and  afflicted  people. 

If,  sir,  it  had  even  not  been  usual  openly  to  testify  re- 
spect for  the  memory  of  those,  whom  heaven  has  selected 
as  its  instruments  for  dispensing  good  to  man,  yet,  such 
has  been  the  uncommon  worth,  and  such  the  extraordin- 
ary incidents  which  have  marked  the  life  of  him,  whose 
loss  we  all  deplore,  that  the  whole  American  nation, 
impelled  by  the  same  feelings,  call  with  one  voice  for  a. 
public  manifestation  of  that  sorrow,  which  is  so  deep  and 
universal. 

More  than  any  other  individual,  and  as  much  as  to  one 
individual  was  possible,  has  he  contributed  to  found  this 
our  wide  spreading  empire,  and  to  give  to  the  western 
world,  independence  and  freedom. 

Having  effected  the  great  object  for  which  he  was  placed 
at  the  head  of  our  armies,- we  have  seen  hint  convert  the 
sword  into  the  plough-share  and  sink  the  soldier  intu  the 
citizen. 


W  REPUBLICAN  COMHLEU. 

When  the  debility  of 'our  federal  system  had  become 
manifest,  and  the  bonds  which  connected  this  vast  conti- 
nent were  dissolving,  we  have  seen  him,  the  chief  of  those 
patriots  who  formed  ibr  us  a  constitution,  which  by  pre- 
serving the  ur.ion,  will,  I  trust,  substantiate  and  perpe- 
tuate those  blessings  which  our  revolution  had  promised 
to  bestow. 

In  obedience  to  the  general  voice  of  his  country,  call- 
ing him  to  preside  over  a  great  people,  we  have  seen  him 
once  more  quit  the  retirement  he  loved,  and  in  a  season 
more  tempestuous  than  war  itself,  with  calm  and  wise 
determination,  pursue  the  true  interests  of  the  nation,  and 
contribute  more  than  any  other  could  contribute,  to  the 
establishment  of  that  system  of  policy,  which  will,  I  trust? 
yet  preserve  our  peace,  our  honour,  and  our  independ- 
ence. 

Having  been  twice  unanimously  chosen  the  chief  ma- 
gistrate of  a  free  people,  we  have  seen  him,  at  a  time 
when  his  re-election,  with  universal  suffrage,  could  not 
be  doubted,  afford  to  the  world  a  rare  instance  of  mode- 
ration, by  withdrawing  from  his  station  to  the  peaceful 
walks  of  private  life. 

However  the  public  confidence  may  change,  and  the 
public  affections  fluctuate  with  regard  to  others,  with 
respect  to  him  they  have,  in  war  and  peace,  in  public 
and  in  private  life,  been  as  steadv  as  his  own  firm  rnind7 
and  as  constant  as  his  own  exalted  virtues. 

Let  us,  then,  Mr.  Speaker,  pay  the  last  tribute  of  re- 
spect and  affection  to  our  departed  friend.  Let  the 
grand  council  of  the  nation  display  those  sentiments 
which  the  nation  feels.  For  this  purpose  I  hold  in  my  hand 
some  resolutions,  which  I  take  the  liberty  of  offering  to 
the  house,  Washington's  Monuments  of  Patriotism.. 


Extract  from  an    Oration  pronounced  at    Worcester} 
(Mass.}  July  4, 1796  5  by  Francis  Stake,  Esqr. 

.  IN  viewing  the  causes  which  led  to  the  event  of  this 
J,oyous  anniversary  ;  in  tracing  the  effects  which  itave  re- 
sulted to  America;  in  searching  for  the  principles  which 
impelled  to  the  contest  $  in  recalling  the  feelings  which 


POPULAR.  11? 

supported  us  in  the  struggle  ;  it  cannot  fail  to  occur  to 
us,  that  the  causes  have  not  been  confined  to  the  limits 
of  our  continent;  that  the  effects  have  extended  far  be- 
yond the  boundaries  of  our  nation  ;  that  the  glorious  ex- 
ample, with  electrical  rapidity,  has  flashed  across  the 
Atlantic  5  that,  guided  by  the  same  principles,  conducted 
by  the  same  feelings,  the  people  who  so  gallantly  fought 
and  bled  for  the  security  of  our  lives  and  our  liberties, 
are  now  fighting  and  bleeding  in  defence  of  their  own. 

On  this  day,  therefore,  religiously  devoted  to  the  con- 
secration of  our  independence,  it  becomes  us,  as  the 
votaries  of  freedom,  as  friends  to  the  rights  of  man,  and 
bound  to  support  them  whenever  invaded,  to  turn  our  at- 
tention, with  a  grateful  enthusiasm,  to  the  scenes  of  their 
sufferings,  their  revolt,  and  their  victories.  While  exult- 
ing in  the  full  enjoyment  of  peace  and  tranquility,  shall 
not  a  tear  for  the  unexampled  distresses  of  this  magnani- 
mous nation,  check,  for  a  moment,  the  emotions  of  our 

J°?  ? 

They  have  sworn  that  they  will  live  FREE  or  DIE  ! 
TV  ey  have  solemnly  sworn,  that  the  sword,  which  has  been 
drawn  in  defence  of  their  country,  shall  never  be  return- 
ed to  its  scabbard,  till  it  has  secured  to  them  victory  and 
freedom.  Let  us  then  breathe  forth  a  fervent  ejaculation 
to  Heaven,  that  their  vows  may  be  remembered  ;  that  the 
cause  of  our  former  allies  may  not  be  deserted,  till  ~they 
have  scourged  their  invaders,  till  they  have  driven  them 
back  in  confusion  to  the  regions  of  terror,  from  whence 
they  emerged. 

While  we  remember,  with  horror,  the  continued  effu- 
sion of  blood  which  darkened  the  morning  of  their  revo- 
lution, let  us  not  forget  that  their  vengeance  was  roused 
by  the  champions  of  despotism,  whose  lives  have  since 
justly  atoned  for  the  crimes  they  committed.  While  we 
lament  the  sanguinary  scenes,  which  clouded  its  pro- 
gress, let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  they  arose  from  <he 
bloody  manifesto  of  a  band  of  tyrants,  combined  for  the 
hellish  purpose  of  again  rivetting  the  chains  they  hatte 
broken. 

The  league  of  Pilnitz,  like  the  league  of  Satan  and  his 
angels,  revolting  against  the  majesty  of  heaven,  was  pro- 
fessedly fabricated,  to  arrest  forever  the  progress  of  free- 
dom ;  to  usurp  the  dominion  of  France,  and  divide  the 
spoil  among'this  band  of  royal  plunderers.  Have  we  not 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

heard,  that  the  noble,  the  generous,  the  grateful  monarch 
of  the  forest,  that  fawned  at  the  feet  of  Androcles,  when 
remembering  his  former  friendship,  will  even  turn  with 
fury  on  his  pursuers;  and  when  robbed  of  his  whelps* 
rests  not  till  his  fangs  are  crimsoned  in  the  blood  of  the 
aggressor  ? 

Shall  then  the  fervour  of  our  friendship  be  abated,  bj  re> 
membering  the  transitory  phrenzj  of  a  people  distracted 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  freedom,  and  irritated  to  madness 
by  the  dreadful  prospect  of  losing  what  they  had  enjoyed 
but  for  a  moment  ?  Let  it  never  be  said  of  u~s,  as  of  Rome 
and  of  Athens,  that  ingratitude  is  the  common  vice  of  re- 
publics. Was  it  to  the  cnnvned  monarch  Louis  the  six- 
teenth, or  to  the  people  of  France,  that  we  were  indebt- 
ed for  the  blood  and  treasure  that  were  so  profusely 
lavished  in  our  cause  ?  Shall  then  their  services  be  for- 
gotten in  the  remembrance  of  their  momentary  excesses  ? 
or  shall  we  refuse  our  most  cordial  concurrence  in  the 
feelings  which  impel  them  to  the  present  contest  with 
the  ruffian  potentates  of  Europe  ?  Can  we  doubt,  for  a 
moment,  which  is  the  cause  we  are  bound  to  support  with 
our  sanction,  when  we  behold  the  winds  and  the  seas, 
those  dreadful  ministers  of  Heaven's  vengeance,  commis- 
sioned to  advance  their*  progress  and  deluge  their  ene- 
mies ?  When  we  behold  Ariel,  with  his  attendant  spirits, 
gently  hovering  over  their  navies,  and  wafting  them  to 
victory  on  the  bosom  of  the  ocean ;  while  Neptune  and 
Boreas  have  combined  against  the  league  of  their  oppres- 
sors, to  overwhelm  in  the  deep  these  deluded  followers 
of  Pharoah  !  Have  we  not  seen  them  fed,  as  with  manna, 
from  heaven  ;  the  waters  divided,  and  the  walls  of  Jeri- 
cho falling  before  them,  while  the  fair  prospect  of  liberty 
has  led  them  in  triumph  through  the  wilderness,  as  a 
cloud  by  day  and  a  pillar  of  iire  by  night ! 

AMERICANS  !  Let  us  join  in  'fervent  supplications, 
that  the  sacred  charters  of  humanity,  which  we  have 
once  sealed  with  our  blood,  may  be  forever  preserved 
from  the  deadly  grasp  of  tyrants. 

FRENCHMEN!  Be  firm;  be  undaunted  in  the  strug- 
gle you  have  thus  miraculously  supported.  Evince  to 
the  world,  now  gazing  with  admiration  at  your  exploits 
in  thc'field  of  battle,  that  you  have  virtue  equal  to  your 
courage;  that  you  are  friends  to  the  friends  of  humani- 
ty ;  that  your  arms  are  nerved  only  against  the  enemies  of 


POPULAR.  119 

man.  Let  not  the*sacred  name  of  LIBERTY  be  polluted 
by  the  phrenzy  of  licentious  passions;  but  may  your 
present  glorious  constitution,  while  it  protects  your  free- 
dom from  the  unhallowed  ravages  of  tyranny,  remain  an 
unshaken  bulwark  against  the  destructive  fury  of  fac- 
tion. 

TYRANTS  !  Turn  from  the  impious  work  of  blood  in 
which  your  hands  are  imbrued,  and  tremble  at  the  despe- 
ration of  your  revolting  subjects!  Repent  in  sackcloth 
and  ashes.  For  behold,  ye,  who  have  been  exalted  up  to 
heaven,  shall,  ere  long,  be  cast  down  to  hell !  The  final 
period  of  your  crimes  is  rapidly  approaching.  The  grand 
POLITICAL  MILLENIUM  is  at  hand  5  when  tyranny  shall 
be  buried  in  ruins;  when  all  nations  shall  be  united  in 
ONE  MIGHTY  REPUBLIC  !  when  the  four  angels,  "  that 
stand  on  the  four  corners  of  the  globe,"  shall,  with  one 
accord,  lift  up  their  voices  to  heaven  ;  proclaiming  PEACE 

ON  EARTH  AND  GOOD  WILL  TO  ALL  MEN. 

Columbian  Orator. 


Iffrewell  Address  of  General  Washington,  to  the  Armies 
of  the  United  States. 

Rocky  Hill,  near  Princeton,  Nov.  2d,  1 783. 

THE  United  States,  in  congress  assembled,  after  giv- 
ing the  most  honourable  testimony  to  the  merits  of  the 
federal  armies,  and  presenting  them  with  the  thanks  of 
their  country,  for  their  long,  eminent  and  faithful  service, 
having  thought  proper,  by  their  proclamation^  bearing, 
date  the  1 8th  of  October  last,  to  discharge  such  part  of 
the  troops  as  were  engaged  for  the  war,  and  to  permit  the 
officers  on  furlough  to  retire  from  service,  from  and  after 
to-morrow;  which  proclamation  having  been  communi- 
cated in  the  public  papers,  for  the  information  and  gov- 
ernment of  all  concerned,  it  only  remains  for  the  Com- 
mander in  Chief  to  address  himself  once  more,  and  that 
for  the  last  time,  to  the  armies  of  the  United  States,  how 
ever  widely  dispersed  individuals  who  compose  them 
may  be,  and  to  bid  them  an  affectionate,  along  farewell. 

But  before  the  commander  in  chief  takes  his  final  leave 
of  those  he  holds  most  dear,  he  wishes  to  indulge  himself 


120  RfePUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

a  few  moments,  in  calling  to  mind  a  slight  view  of  the 
past.  He  will  then  take  the  liberty  of  exploring,  with  his 
military  friends,  their  future  prospects  $  of  advising  the 
general  line  of  conduct,  which,  in  his  opinion,  ought  to  be 
pursued ;  and  he  will  conclude  the  address,  by  express- 
ing the  obligations  he  feels  himself  under  for  the  spirited 
and  able  assistance  he  has  experienced  from  them,  in  the 
performance  of  an  arduous  omce. 

A  contemplation  of  the  complete  attainment,  at  a  peri- 
od earlier  than  could  have  been  expected,  of  the  object 
for  which  we  contended,  against  so  formidable  a  power, 
cannot  but  inspire  us  with  astonishment  and  gratitude. 
The  disadvantageous  circumstances  on  our  part,  under 
which  the  war  was  undertaken,  can  never  be  forgotten, 
The  signal  interposition  of  Providence,  in  our  feeble  con- 
dition, was  such  as  could  scarcely  escape  the  attention  of 
the  most  unobserving ;  while  the  unparalleled  persever- 
ance of  the  armies  of  the  United  States,  through  almost 
every  possible  difficulty  and  discouragement, for  the  space 
of  eight  long  years,  was  little  short  of  a  standing  mira- 
cle. 

It  is  not  the  meaning,  nor  within  the  compass  of  this 
address,  to  detail  the  hardships  peculiarly  incident  to  our 
service,  or  to  describe  the  distresses  which,  in  several 
instances,  have  resulted  from  the  extremes  of  hunger  and 
nakedness,  combined  with  the  rigours  of  an  inclement 
season ;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  dwell  on  the  dark  side  of 
our  past  affairs. 

Every  American  officer  and  soldier  must  now  console 
himself,  for  any  unpleasant  circumstance  which  may 
have  occurred,  by  a  recollection  of  the  uncommon  scene's 
in  which  he  has  been  called  to  act  no  inglorious  part,  and 
the  astonishing  events  of  which  he  has  been  a  witness ; 
events  which  have  seldom,  if  ever,  before  taken  place  on 
the  stage  of  human  action ;  nor  can  they  probably  ever 
happen  again.  For  who  has  before  seen  a  disciplined  ar- 
my formed  at  once  from  such  raw  materials  ?  who  that 
was  not  a  witness,  could  imagine,  that  the  most  violent 
local  prejudices  would  cease  so  soon,  and  that  men  who 
came  from  the  different  parts  of  the  continent,  strongly 
disposed  by  the  habits  of  education,  to  despise  and  quar- 
rel with  one  another,  would  instantly  become  but  one 
patriotic  band  of  brothers  ?  or,  who  that  was  not  on  the 
spot,  can  trace  the  steps  by  which  such  a  wonderful  rev 


POPULAJ3 

olution  has  been  ejected,  and  such  a  glorious  period  put 
to  all  our  warlike  toils  ? 

It  is  universally  acknowledged,  that  the  enlarged  pros 
|>ects  of  happiness,  opened  by  the  confirmation  of  our  in- 
dependence and  sovereignty,  almost  exceed  the  power  ol 
description ;  and  shall  not  the  brave  men  who  have  contri 
buted  so  essentially  to  these  inestimable  acquisitions, 
retiring  victorious  from  the  field  of  war  to  the  field  ol 
agriculture,  participate  in  all  the  blessings  which  have 
been  obtained.  In  such  a  republic,  who  will  exclude  them 
from  the  rights  of  citizens  and  the  fruits  of  their  labours  f 
In  such  a  country,  so  happily  circumstanced,  the  pursuits 
of  commerce,  and  the  cultivation  ofthesoil,  will  unfold  to 
industry  the  certain  road  to  competence.  To  those  hardy 
soldiers,  who  are  actuated  by  the  spirit  of  adventure,  the 
fisheries  will  afford  ample  and  profitable  employment; 
and  the  extensive  and  fertile  regions  of  the  west,  will 
yield  a  most  happy  assylum  to  those  who,  fond  of  domes- 
tic enjoyment, are  seeking  personal  independence.  Nor 
is  it  possible  to  conceive  that  any  one  of  the  United 
States  will  prefer  a  national  bankruptcy,  and  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  union,  to  a  compliance  with  the  requisitions  of 
Congress,  and  the  payment  of  its  just  debts;  so  that  the 
officers  and  soldiers  may  expect  considerable  assistance, 
in  recommencing  their  civil  occupations,  from  the  sums 
due  to  them  from  the  public,  which  must  and  will  most  in- 
evitably be  paid. 

In  order  to  effect  this  desirable  purpose,  and  remove 
the  prejudices,  which  may  have  taken  possession  of  the 
minds  of  any  of  the  good  people  of  the  states,  it  is  earn- 
estly recommended  to  all  the  troops,  that,  with  strong;  at- 
tachment to  the  union,  they  should  carry  with  them  into 
civil  society,  the  most  conciliating  dispositions,  and  that 
they  should  prove  themselves  not  less  virtuous  and  useful 
as  citizens,  than  they  have  been  victorious  as  soldiers. 
What,  though  there  should  be  some  envious  individuals, 
who  are  unwilling  to  pay  the  debt  the  public  has  contract- 
ed, or  to  yield  the  tribute  due  to  merit ;  yet,  let  such  un- 
worthy treatment  produce  no  invective,  or  any  instance? 
of  intemperate  conduct.  Let  it  be  remembered,  that  the 
unbiased  voice  of  the  free  citizens  of  the  United  States* 
has  promised  thejust  reward,  and  given  the  just  applause. 
Let  it  be  known  and  remembered,  that  the  reputation  ol 
(be  federal  armies  is  established  beyond  the  reach  of  ma- 
T. 


22  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER 

levolence;  and  let  a  consciousness  of  their  achievement 
and  fame,  still  excite  the  men  who  composed  them,  to 
honourable  actions,  under  the  persuasion  that  the  private 
virtues  of  economy,  prudence  and  industry,  will  not  be 
less  amiable  in  civil  life,  than  the  more  splendid  quali- 
ties of  valour,  perseverance  and  enterprize,  were  in  the 
field.  Every  one  may  rest  assured,  that  much,  very 
much  of  the  future  happiness  of  the  officers  and  men, 
will  depend  upon  the  wise  and  manly  conduct  which 
shall  be  adopted  by  them,  when  they  are  mingled  with 
the  great  body  of  the  community. 

And,  although  the  General  has  so  frequently  given  it  as 
his  opinion,  in  the  most  public  and  explicit  manner,  that 
unless  the  principles  of  the  federal  government  were 
properly  supported,  and  the  powers  of  the  union  increas- 
ed, the  honour,  dignity  and  justice  of  the  nation,  would 
be  lost  forever;  yet,  he  cannot  help  repeating,  on  this 
occasion,  so  interesting  a  sentiment,  and  leaving  it  as  his 
last  injunction,  to  every  officer  and  every  soldier,  who 
may  view  the  subject  in  the  same  serious  point  of  light, 
to  add  his  best  endeavours  to  those  of  his  worthy  fellow- 
citizens,  toward  effecting  these  great  and  valuable  pur- 
poses, on  which  our  very  existence  as  a  nation  so  materi- 
ally depends. 

The  Commander  in  Chief,  conceives  little  is  now  want- 
ing, to  enable  the  soldier  to  change  the  military  charac- 
ter into  that  of  the  citizen,  but  that  steady,  decent  ten- 
our  of  behaviour,  which  has  generally  distinguished,  not 
only  the  army  under  his  immediate  command,  but  the 
different  detachments  and  armies  through  the  course  of 
•the  war.  From  their  good  sense  and  prudence,  he  anti- 
cipates the  happiest  consequences;  and  while  ho  con- 
gratulates them  on  the  glorious  occasion  which  renders 
their  services  in  the  field  no  longer  necessary,  he  wishes 
to  express  the  strong  obligations  he  feels  himself  under, 
for  the  assistance  he  has  received  from  every  class,  and 
:>!>  every  instance.  He  presents  his  thanks,  in  the  most 
serious  and  affectionate  manner,  to  the  general  officers, 
as  well  for  their  counsels  on  many  interesting  occasions, 
as  for  their  ardour  in  promoting  the  success  of  the  plans 
he  had  adopted ;  to  the  commandants  of  regiments  and 
corps,  and  to  the  other  officers,  for  their  zeal  and  atten- 
tion in  carrying  his  orders  promptly  into  execution;  to 
the  staff?  for  their  alacrity  and  exactness  in  performing 


POPULAR.  123 

the  duties  of  their  several  departments;  and  to  the  non- 
commissioned officers  and  private  soldiers,  for  their  ex- 
traordinary patience  and  suffering,  as  well  as  ther  invin- 
cible fortitude  in  action.  To  the  various  branches  of  the 
army,  the  General  takes  this  last  and  solemn  opportuni- 
ty of  professing  his  inviolable  attachment  and  friendship, 
He  wishes  more  than  bare  professions  were  in  his  power  $ 
that  he  was  really  able  to  be  useful  to  them  all  in  future 
iife.  He  flatters  himself,  however,  they  will  do  him  the 
justice  to  believe,  that  whatever  could  with  propriety  be 
attempted  by  him,  has  been  done. 

And  being  now  about  to  conclude  these,  his  last  pub- 
lic orders,  to  take  his  ultimate  leave  in  a  short  time  of 
the  military  character,  and  to  bid  a  final  adieu  to  the  ar- 
mies he  has  so  long  had  the  honour  to  command,  he  can 
only  again  offer,  in  their  behalf,  his  recommendations  to 
their  grateful  country,  and  his  prayers  to  the  God  of  ar- 
mies. May  ample  justice  be  done  them  here,  and  may 
the  choicest  of  Heaven's  favours,  both  here  and  hereaf- 
ter, attend  those  who,  under  the  Divine  auspices,  have 
secured  innumerable  blessings  for  others.  With  these 
wishes,  ai?d  this  benediction,  the  Commander  in  Chief 
is  about  to  retire  from  service.  The  curtain  of  separa- 
tion will  soon  be  drawn,  and  the  military  scene  to  him, 
be  closed  forever. 

Washington's  Monuments  of  Patriotism. 


Extract  from  the  Speech  of  Governor  Rutledge,  to  the 
Legislature  of  South  Carolina,  at  their  first  meeting, 
after  the  re-establishment  of  the  Federal  Government, 
after  the  evacuation  of  that  State  by  the  British,  dur- 
ing the  American  Revolution. 

Honorable  Gentlemen  of  the  Senate,  Mr.  Speaker, 

and  Gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Representatives, 

SINCE  the  last  meeting  of  a  general  assembly,  the  good 
people  of  this  state,  have  not  only  felt  the  common  ca- 
lamities of  war,  but  from  the  wanton  and  savage  manner 
in  which  it  has  been  executed,  they  have  experienced 


'^4  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

inch  severities  as  are  unpractised,  and  will  scarcely  be 
iHted  by  civilized  nations. 
The  enemy,  unable  to  make  any  impression  on  the 

northern  states,  the  number  of  whose  inhabitants,  and 
•the  strength  of  whose  country,  had  baffled  their  repeated 
efforts,  turned  their  views  to  the  southern,  vhich,  differ- 
ence of  circumstances  afforded  some  expectation  of  con- 
quering, or  at  least  of  distressing.  After  a  long  resist- 
ance, the  reduction  of  Charleston  was  effected  by  the 
vast  superiority  of  force  with  which  it  had  been  besieged. 
The  loss  of  that  garrison,  as  it  consisted  of  the  continen- 
tal troops  of  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas,  and  of  a  number 
of  militia,  facilitated  the  enemy's  march  into  the  coun- 
try, and  the  establishment  of  strong  posts  on  the  upper 
and  interior  parts  of  it  5  and  the  unfavourable  issue  of  the 
action  near  Camden,  induced  them  vainly  to  imagine, 
•i:i at  no  other  army  could  be  collected,  which  they  might 
r.ot  easily  defeat.  The  militia  commanded  by  the  briga- 
diers Marion  and  Sumpter,  whose  enterprising  spirit  and 
unremitted  perseverance,  under  many  difficulties,  are 
deserving  of  great  applause,  harrassed,  and  often  defeat- 
ed large  parties :  but  the  numbers  of  those  militia  were 
too  few  to  contend  effectually,  with  the  collected  strength 
of  the  enemy.  Regardless,  therefore,  of  the  sacred  ties 
of  honour,  destitute  of  the  feelings  of  humanity,  and  de- 
termined to  extinguish,  if  possible,  every  spark  of  free- 
dom in  this  country,  they,  with  the  insolent  pride  of  con- 
querors, gave  unbounded  scope  to  the  exercise  of  their 
tyrannical  despotism,  infringed  their  public  engagements, 
and  violated  the  most  solemn  capitulations.  Many  of 
our  worthiest  citizens,  were,  without  cause,  long  and 
closely  con  lined,  some  on  board  of  prison  ships,  and  oth- 
ers in  the  town  and  castle  of  St.  Augustine. 

But  I  can  now  congratulate  you,  and  I  do  so  most  cor 
dutily.  on  the  pleasing  change  of  affairs,  winch,  under 
the  blessing  of  God,  tlie  wisdom,  prudence,  address  and 
bravery  of  the  great  and  gallant  general  Greene,  and  the 
intrepidity  of  the  officers  ami  men  under  his  command, 
has  been  happily  effected.  A  general,  who  is  justly  en- 
fitJed,  from  his  many  signal  services,  to  honorable  and 
jiunal  marks  of  your  approbation  and  gratitude.  His 
successes  have  been  more  rapid  and  complete  than  the 
most  sanguine  could  have  expected.  The  enemy  coir, 
pelled  to  surrender  or  evacuate  every  post  ^vhich 


POPULAR.  135 

field  in  the  country;  frequently  defeated  and  driven 
irom  place  to  place,  are  obliged  to  seek  refuge  under 
the  walls  of  C:  -.,  or  in  the  islands  in  its  vicinity. 

Vie.  have  no-*  the  full  and  absolute  possession  of  ev- 
ery other  part  of  tie  state;  and  the  legislate  execu- 
tive and  judicial  powers,  are  in  the  free  exercise,  of  their 
respective  authorities.  The  interest  and  honour,  the 
satvty  £T;d  happiness  of  our  country,  depend  so  much 
on  the  result  of  your  deliberations,  that  1  flatter  myself 
you  will  proceed  in  the  weighty  business  before  you, 
with  firmness  and  temper,  with  "vigour.,  unanimity  and 
despatch.  Lees9  Memoirs  of  the  Southern  War. 


Extract  from  Mr.  Jlmes*  Speech  on  the  British  Treaty 

IF  any  should  maintain  that  the  peace  with  the  Indians 
will  be  stable  without  the  posts,  to  them  I  will  urge 
another  reply.  From  arguments  calculated  to  produce 
conviction,  I  w:ll  appeal  directly  to  the  hearts  of  those 
who  hear  me,  and  ask  whether  it  Is  not  already  planted 
there  ?  I  resort  especially  to  the  convictions  of  the  wes- 
tern gentlemen,  whether,  supposing  no  posts  and  no 
treaty,  the  settlers  will  remain  in  security  ?  Can  they 
take  it  upon  them  to  say,  that  an  Indian  peace,  under  these 
circumstances,  will  prove  firm?  No.  Sir,  it  will  not  be 
peace,  but  a  sword;  it  will  be  no  bettor  than  a  lure  to 
draw  victims  within  the  reach  of  the  tomahawk. 

On  this  theme,  my  emotions  are  unutterable.  If  I 
could  find  words  for  them,  if  my  powers  bore  any  pro- 
portion to  my  zeal,  I  would  swell  my  voice  to  such  a  note 
of  remonstrance,  it  should  reach  every  log-house  beyond 
the  mountains.  I  would  say  to  the  inhabitants,  wake 
from  your  false  security.  Y'our  cruel  dangers,  your  mora 
cruel  apprehensions  are  soon  to  be  renewed  :  The  wounds 
yet  unhealed,  are  to  be  torn  open  again.  In  the  day  time 
your  path  through  the  woods  will  be  ambushed.  The 
darkness  of  the  night  will  glitter  wit!*  the  blaze  of  your 
dwellings.  You  are  a  father — the  blood  of  your  sons 
shall  fatten  your  corn-field.  You'  are  a  mother — the  war 
whoop  shall  wake  the  sleep  of  the  cradle, 


:#  UKPUBLICAN  COMPILED 

On  this  subject  you  need  not  suspect  any  deception'  en 
your  feelings.  It  is  a  spectacle  of  horror  which  cannot  be 
over-drawn.  If  you  have  nature  in  your  hearts,  they 
will  speak  a  language,  compared  with  which,  all  I  have 
said,  or  can  say,  will  be  poor  and  frigid. 

•Will  it  be  whispered,  that  the  treaty  has  rfca-Je  me  a 
a  new  champion  for  the  protection  of  the  frontiers;  it  is 
known  that  my  voice,  as  well  as  vqte,  have  been  unifoinv 
ly  given  in  conformity  with  the  ideas  1  have  expressed. 
Protection  is  the  right  of  the  frontiers  5  it  is  our  duty  to 
give  it. 

Who  will  accuse  me  of  wandering  out  of  the  subject? 
Who  will  say  that  I  exaggerate  the  tendencies  of  our 
measures  ?  Will  any  one  answer  by  a  sneer,  that  all  this 
is  idle  preaching  ?  Would  any  one  deny  that  we  are 
bound,  and  I  would  hope  to  good  purpose,  by  the  mqst 
solemn  sanctions  of  duty,  for  the  vote  we  give"?  Are  re- 
publicans unresporisible !  Have  the  principles  on  which 
you  ground  the  reproach,  upon  cabinets  and  kings,  no 
practicable  influence,  no  binding  force  ?  Are  they  merely 
themes  of  idle  declamation,  introduced  to  decorate  the 
morality  of  a  newspaper  essay,  or  to  furnish  pretty  topics 
of  harangue  from  the  windows  of  that  state  house  ?  I 
trust  it  is  neither  too  presumptuous,  nor  too  late  to  ask. 
Can  you  put  the  dearest  interest  of  society  at  risk,  with- 
out guilt,  and  without  remorse  ? 

It  is  vain  to  offer  as  an  excuse,  that  public  men  are  not 
to  be  reproached  for  the  evils  that  may  happen  to  ensue 
from  their  measures.  This  is  very  true,  where  they  are 
unforeseen  or  inevitable.  Those  I  have  depicted  are  not 
unforeseen  ;  they  are  so  far  from  inevitable,  we  are  going 
to  bring  them  into  being  by  our  vote.  We  choose  the 
consequences,  and  become  as  justly  answerable  for  them 
as  for  the  measure  that  we  know  will  produce  them. 

By  rejecting  the  posts,  we  light  the  savage  tires,  we 
bind  the  victims  This  day  we  undertake  to  render  ac- 
count to  the  widows  and  orphans  whom  our  decision  wiH 
make,  to  the  wretches  that  will  be  roasted  at  the  stake, 
to  our  country,  and  I  do  not  deem  it  too  serious  to  say, 
to  conscience  and  to  God,  we  are  answerable;  and  if 
duty  be  any  thing  more  than  a-  word  of  imposture,  if 
conscience  be  not  a  bugbear,  we  are  preparing  to  make 
ourselves  as  wretched  *s  our  country. 


POPULAR.  **f 

There  is  no  r.u>:tukt  in  tin*  ta?e,  there  cat;  be  mme.— 
lExnerience  k«s  already  been  the  prophet  of  events,  and 
tho*  cries  of  our  future  \ieiims  have  alrea<ly  reached  us-.. 
The  western  inhabitants  are  not  asiit-nt  and  uncon;; 
ing  sacrifice.     The  voice  of  humane  •  from  tie 

shade  oi  the  wilderness.     It  exclaims  that  while  one 
is  held  up  to  reject  this  treaty,  the  other  pasps  a  : 
hawk.     It  summons  our  imagination  to  the  scenes  that 
will  open.     It  is  no  great  eviurt  of  the   imagination  io 
conceive  that  events  so  near  are  already  begun.     I  can 
fancy  that  1  listen  to  the  veils  of  savage  >  >\  and 

hrieks  of  torture.  Already  they  betm  to 
-•'rn  wind:  already  they  mingle  with  ; 
'v  the  mountains.  *iwerican  '-  / 


Speech  of  Mr.  Noland,  in  the  Virginia  L  , 

the  passage  of  the  Bill  to  suppress    '' 


MR.  SPEAKEU  —  The  bill  which  has  l.een  read,  is  one 
•which   claims  the  serious  attention  .  >use:  it  i,^ 

one  in  wliich  every  member  of  this  body,  in  which  every 
citizen  of  Virginia,  is  deeply  interested.     The  |:ra 
of  duelling  seems  to  me  but  an  liiiiiaturril  £raft  oi 
•rourage,  growing  out  of  a  barbarous  age  :  fur  \^e  bnd 
t  wus  first  introduced  by  tSie  Goths  ar^d  Vandals,  di. 
the  days  of  their  ignorance  and  barbarism.     The  ;, 
;ind  polished  nations  of  Greece  and  Rome,  who  wer« 
ever  prodigal  of  their  blood,  when  in  defence  of  their 
country's  rights,  knew  nothing  of  this  detestable  practice, 
which  appears  to  me  to  be  built  on  an  infinity  of  absurdi- 
ties :  because,  while  it  seems  to  suppose  that  a  man's 
honour  ought  to  be  dearer  to  him  than  his  life,  it  at  th«: 
same  time  supposes,  that  his  honour  is  in  the  power  of 
every  unprincipled  villain  that  can  invent,  or  tell  a  lie, 
or  every  careless  or  ill-bred  person,  that  may  jostle  hiru 
in  his  way  :  it  supposes  that  "a  lie  may  become  true  arid 
honourable,  provided  the  person  who  tells  it  is  willing  to 
tight  in  support  of  it;  and  that  any  crime  whatever  may 
become  honourable,  by  fighting  in  its  defence:  it  sup- 
poses that  the  man  who  is  covered  with  guilt,  who  has 
wounded  the  peace  of  his  friend,  by  staining  the  ciiarac- 


.^  IIEI'UBLICAN  COMPILED, 

ter  of  his  wife,  or  of  big  daughter,  becomes  at  once  an 
honourable  man.  by  heroically' washing  out  their  stains  in 
ihc  blood  of  the  husband  or  the  lather:  it  farther  sup- 
poses, that  it  is  better  for  a  man  to  be  condemned  by  his 
own  conscience,  and  by  the  virtuous  and  rational  part  of 
mankind,  than  to  suffer  one  moment  in  the  opinion  of  the 
advocates  for   duelling;— finally,  that  steel  and   gui, 
powdey  are  the  true  diagnosticks  of  innocence  and  moral 
excellency.     If  Sir,  having  seized  the  villain  who  had 
•violated  my  wife,  1  should  bring  him  before  a  tribunal  oi 
justice,  what  would  be  your  opinion  of  the  judge  who 
should  order  that  I,  the  innocent,  injured  man,  must  cast 
•ots  with  the  guilty,  which  of  us  must  die. —  Would  not 
your  heart  chill  at  such  a  sentence  ?  Would  not  you  pro- 
nounce it  contrary  to  reason,  to  common  sense  and  jug- 
•;ice?  You  surely   would — In  the  case"  of  duelling,  the 
public  is  the  judge.     1  receive  an  injury  for  which  nothing 
but  life  can  atone,  I  do  not  appeal  to  the  public;  no,  Sir, 
the  public  officiously  interferes  and  condemns  me  under 
the  penalty  of  perpetual  disgrace,  to  cast  lots  with  the 
aggressor,  which  of  us  must  die.     Was  there  ever  any 
thing  more  preposterous  !    More  abominably  absurd  !    It 
is  the  opinion  of  many,  Sir,  that  dueling  is  an  evil  which 
will  correct  itself;  while  others  say,  it  is  of  little  concern 
to  the  rational  and  virtuous  part  of  mankind,  in  what 
manner  knaves  and  fools   may  think  proper  to  rid  the 
world  of  each  other,  as  it  will  not  deprive  society  of  one 
valuable  member  ;  but  daily  experience  convinces  us,  that 
both  these  opinions  are  incorrect :  for  while  the  evil  is 
growing  to  an  enormous  height,  we  find  that  some  of  our 
best  citizens  have  exposed  their  individual  lives,  while 
ethers  have  fallen  victims  to  this  abominable  practice  5 
and  will  the  collected  wisdom   of  this   commonwealth 
make  no  effort  to  suppress  this  sanguinary  and  growing 
evil?  Will  the  enlightened  Hgislature  of  Virginia  make 
no  stand-  against  the  current  of  pifblic  opinion  ?  I  hope— ~ 
1  trust  they  will.     Sir,  so  long  as  it  is  belived,  that  the 
practice  cf  duelling  is  sanctioned  by  public  opinion,  there 
is  no  man.  who  is  anxious  to  maintain  his  social  standing, 
can  refuse,  what  is  called  an  honourable  call.     No  mat- 
ter how  much  his  moral  and  religious  principles  may  be 
opposed  to  the  practice :  no  matter,  though  he  may  nave 
a  wife  and  children  depending  on  his  exertions  for  their 
daily  bread  f  no  matter  how  grept  claims  his  country  may 


OPCJLAR. 


have  on  his  talents,  in  critical  and  trying  times;  he 
loses  sight  of  all  in  the  dreadful  idea  of  being  stigmatized 
as  a  coward — Pejusque  htho  Jtagitiun  timtt — he  seizes 
the  fatal  weapon— he  marches  to  the  combat,  receives 
the  fatal  wound,  and  leaves  a  disconsolate  widow  and  a 
number  of  helpless  orphans,  to  mourn  their  irreparable 
loss.  This,  Sir,  is  not  fancy,  these  are  scenes  which 
frequently,  very  frequently,  pass  in  review  before  us. — 
Pass  this  bill.  Sir,  and  you  put  a  stop  to  the  evil— pass 
this  bill  and  you  place  a  shield  between  the  man  of  xeel- 
ing  and  the  public  opinion — you  raise  a  barrier  in  the  road 
to  honour  and  preferment,  at  which  the  ambitious  man 
will  pause  and  reflect,  ere  he  rashly  engages  in  a  duel — 
pass  this  bill,  and  I  will  venture  to  predict,  that  you  will 
preserve  the  lives  of  many,  very  many  valuable  citizens. 
— Had  a  similar  law  passed  at  your  last  session,  Mr. 
Speaker,  it  would  have  been  attended  with  the  best  of 
consequences. — We  should  not  now  be  lamenting  the 
loss  of  a  Pope,  a  Hooe,  and  a  Smith. — On  us,  in  part,  rests 
the  blame  of  robbing  society  of  those  able  and  useful 
members — on  us,  8ir,  in  part,  rests  the  blame  of  prepar- 
ing affliction  for  the  widow's  heart,  of  filling  the  orphan's  ^ 
eye  with  tears,  and  bringing  trouble  and  misfortune  on 
numerous  relatives.  As  fathers,  then,  as  brothers,  as  men 
and  as  legislators,  I  call  on  this  house  to  suppress  an  evil 
which  strikes  at  you  in  all  those  tender  relations — I  calU 
on  you  to  raise  your  hands  against  a  crime,  the  disgrace 
of  tne  land  and  the  scourge  of  our  peace — I  call  on  you 
to  set  an  example  worthy  of  yourselves  and  of  those  you 
represent;  and  should  this  bill  not  have  the  desired' ef- 
fect, you  will  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of  having  performed 
your  duty.  Before  I  sit  down  I  give  notice,  I  shall  call 
for  the  ayes  and  noes.  I  iun  anxious  to  have  my  name 
recorded  on  this  question.  I  wish  to  enter  my  protest 
against  duelling.  There  are  some  gentlemen,  Mr.  Speak- 
er, far  be  it  from  me  to  insinuate  that  there  are  any  in 
this  assembly,  who,  though  opposed  to  the  principle  of 
duelling,  do  not  wish  to  proclaim  their  sentiments  to  the 
world,  lest  they  should  be  suspected  of  a  want]  of  forti- 
tude :  T,  Sir,  have  no  such  fears  :  for  I,  never  did  suppose 
the  fighting  of  a  duel  a  mark  of  fortitude  : — No,  Sir,  true 
fortitude  is  a  cardinal  virtue,  depending  on.  and  inseper- 
able  from  other  virtues — it  is  that  firm  ,man!y  intrepidity 
of  soul,  which  enables  us  to  meet  danger  in  critics!  and 


130  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

trying  situations — it  is  the  virtuous  man's  shield,  by 
wliich  he  defends  himself  from  the  evils  of  the  world — it 
is  the  anchor  which  keeps  him  steady  amidst  the  storms 
and  hurricanes  of  life.  The  intrepidity  or  courage  of  a 
duellist,  although  it  seems  to  imitate,  "cannot  be  said  to 
be  a  virtue ;  because  it  is  not  the  object  of  moral  virtue. 

Ibid* 


Final  Speech  of  DR.  FZJNKLIN,  in  the  late  Federal  Con 
mention. 

MR.  PRESIDENT, 

I  CONFESS  that  I  do  not  entirely  approve  of  this  con- 
stitution at  present:  but,  Sir,  I  am  not  sure  I  shall  never 
approve  it;  for  having  lived  long,  I  have  experienced 
many  instances  of  being  obliged  by  better  information, 
or  further  consideration,  to  change  opinions  even  on  im- 
portant subjects,  which  I  once  thought  right,  but  found 
to  be  otherwise.  It  is  therefore,  that  the  older  T  grow, 
the  more  apt  am  1  to  doubt  my  own  judgement,  and  pay 
more  respect  to  the  judgement  of  others.  Most  men, 
indeed,  as  well  as  most  sects  of  religion,  think  themselves 
in  possession  of  all  truth,  and  that  whenever  others  differ 
from  them,  it  is  so  far  error.  Steel,  a  protestant,in  a  de- 
dication, tells  the  Pope,  "that  the  only  differencebctween 
our  two  churches,  in  their  opinions,  of  the  certainty  of 
their  doctrines,  is  the  Roman  church  is  infallible  and  the 
church  of  England  never  in  the  wrong."  But,  though 
many  private  persons  think  almost  as  highly  of  their  own 
infallibility  as  of  that  of  their  own  sect,  few  express  it  to 
naturally  as  a  certain  French  lady,  who  in  a  little  dispute 
with  her  sister,  said,  I  dont  know  how  it  happens,  but  I 
meet  with  nobody  but  myself  that  is  always  in  the  right. 
II  tfy  a  que  moi  qui  a  tdujours  raison.  In  these  senti- 
ments, Sir,  I  agree  to  this  constitution,  with  all  its  faults, 
if  they  are  such  ;  because  I  think  a  general  government 
necessary  for  us.  and  there  is  no  form  of  government  but 
what  may  be  a  blessing,  if  we! I  administered,  and  I  be- 
lieve farther,  that  this  is  likely  to  be  well  administered 
for  a  course  of  years,  and  can  only  end  in  despotism,  as 
other  forms  have  done  before  it,  v  !  eu  the  people  shall  be- 


POPULAR, 

come  so  corrupted  as  to  need  despotic  government,  being 
incapable  of  any  other.  1  doubt,  too,  whether  any  other 
convention  we  can  obtain,  may  be'  able  to  make  a  better 
constitution.  For  when  you  assemble  a  number  of  men, 
to  have  the  advantage  of  their  jeint  wisdom,  you  assem- 
ble with  those  men,  all  their  prejudices,  their  passions, 
their  errors  of  opinion,  their  local  interests,  and  their 
selfish  views.  From  such  an  assembly,  can  a  perfect  pro- 
duction be  expected  ?  Jt  therefore  astonishes  me,  Sir,  to 
find  this  system  approaching  so  near  to  perfection  as  it 
does  ;  andf  I  think  it  will  astonish  our  enemies,  who  are 
waiting  with  confidence,  to  hear  that  our  councils  are 
confounded,  like  those  of  the  builders  of  Babylon,  and 
that  our  states  are  on  the  point  of  separation,  only  to 
meet  hereafter  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  each  other's 
throats. 

Thus,  I  consent.  Sir,  to  this  constitution — because  I  ex- 
pect no  better,  and  because  I  am  not  sure  that  this  is  not 
the  best.  The  opinion  I  have  had  of  its  errors,  I  sacrifice 
to  the  public  good.  I  have  never  whispered  a  syllable  of 
them  abroad.  Within  these  walls  they  were  born  ;  arid 
here  they  shall  die.  If  every  one  of  us,  in  returning  to 
our  constituents,  were  to  report  the  objections  he  has  had 
to  it,  and  endeavour  to  gain  partizans  in  support  of  them, 
we  might  prevent  its  being  generally  received,  and  there- 
by lose  all  the  salutary  effects  and  great  advantages  re- 
sulting naturally  in  o*ur  favour  among  foreign  nations,,  as 
well  as  among  ourselves,  from  our  real  or  apparent  una- 
nimity. Much  of  th«  strength  and  efficiency  of  any  govern- 
ment, in  procuring  and  securing  happiness  to  the  people, 
depend  on  opinion  5  on  the  general  opinion  of  the  good- 
ness of  tiiat  government,  as  well  as  of  the  wisdom  and  in- 
tegrity of  its  governors. 

I  hope,  therefore,  that  for  our  own  sakes,  as  a  part  of 
the  people,  and  for  the  sake  of  our  posterity,  we  shall  act 
heartily  and  unanimously  in  recommending  this  constitu- 
tion, wherever  our  influence  may  extend,  and  turn  our 
future  thoughts  and  endeavours  to  the  means  of  having  it 
well  administered. 

On  the  whole.  Sir.  I  cannot  help  expressing  a  wish,  that 
every  member  of  the  convention,  who  may  still  have  ob- 
jections, would  with  me,  on  this  occasion,  doubt  a  little 
of  his  own  infallibility,  and  to  make  manifest  our  una- 
nimity, put  his  name  to  this  instrument. 

Life  of  Franklin. 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILE!',, 


Speech  of  PATRICK  IfENxr,  delivered  in  the  house  of 
delegates  of  Virginia,  in  support  of  his  motion  to  put 
the  colony  in  a  state  of  defence  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  Great  Britain,  March,  1775. 

No  man  thinks  more  highly  than  I  do  of  the  patriotism, 
as  well  as  abilities,  of  the  very  worthy  gentlemen  who 
have  just  addressed  the  house>  But  different  men  often 
see  the  same  subjects  in  different  lights,  and  therefore,  I 
hope,  it  will  not  be  thought  disrespectful  to  those  gentle- 
men, if  I  should  speak  my  sentiments  freely  and  without 
reserve.  This  is  no  time  for  ceremony.  The  question 
before  the  house  is  one  of  awful  moment  to  this  country 
•  —  for  my  own  part,  I  consider  it  as  nothing  less  than  a 
question  of  freedom  or  slavery.  In  proportion  to  the 
magnitude  of  the  subject,  ought  to  be  the  freedom  of  the 
debate  —  It  is  only  in  this  way  that  we  can  hope  to  arrive 
at  truth,  and  fulfil  the  great  responsibility  which  we  hold 
to  God  and  our  country.  Should  I  keep  back  my  opin- 
ions, at  such  a  time,  through  fear  of  giving  offence,  I 
should  consider  myself  as  guilty  of  treason  towards  my 
country,  and  of  an  act  of  disloyalty  towards  the  majesty 
of  Heaven,  which  I  revere  above  all  earthly  kings. 

MR.  PRESIDENT,  it  is  natural  to  man  to  indulge  in 
the  illusions  of  hope.  We  are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes 
against  a  painful  truth,  and  listen  to  the  song  of  th'at 
syren,  till  she  traduces  our  judgements.  Is  it  the  part  of 
wise  men,  engaged  in  a  great  and  arduous  struggle  for 
liberty  f  Are  we  disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of  those, 
who,  having  eyes,  see  not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not,  the 
things  which  so  nearly  concern  our  temporal  salvation  ? 
For  my  part,  whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it  might  cost,  I 
am  willing  to  know  the  whole  truth;  to  know  the  worst, 
and  to  provide  for  it.  I  have  but  one  lamp  by  which  my 
feet  are  guided,  and  that  is  tiie  lamp  of  experience.  I 
know  of  no  way  of  judging  of  the  future,  but  by  the  past  ; 
and,  judging  by  the  past,  I  wish  to  know  what  there  has 
been  in  the  conduct  of  the  British  ministry  for  the  last 
ten  years,  to  justify  those  hopes,  with  which  gentlemen 
have  been  pleased  to  solace  themselves  and  the  house  ? 
Is  it  that  insidious  smile  with  which  our  petition  lias  been 
lately  received  ?  Trust  it  not.  Sir,  it  will  prove  a  snare 
f,o  your  feet.  Suffer  not  yourselves  to  be  betrayed 
•with  a  kiss.  Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  reception 
af  our  petition,  comports  with  'those  warlike  preparations 


-.'vPULAR,  M* 

which  cover  our  waters  and  darken  our  land  ?  Are  fleets 
and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and  reconciliation  ? 
Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be  reconciled, 
that  force  must  be  called  in  to  win  back  our  love  ?  Let 
us  not  deceive  ourselves,  Sir.  These  are  the  implements 
of  war  and  subjugation — the  last  arguments  to  which 
kings  resort.  I  ask,  gentlemen,  Sir,  what  means  this  mar- 
tial array,  if  its  purpose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submission  ? 
Can  gentlemen  assign  any  other  possible  motive  for  it  ? 
Has  Great  Britain  any  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the  world, 
to  call  for  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and  armies  ? 
No,  Sir,  she  has  none:  they  are  meant  for  us:  they  can 
be  meant  for  no  other  purpose — they  are  sent  over  to 
bind  and  rivet  upon  us  those  chains,  which  the  British 
ministry  have  been  so  long  forging.  And  what  have  we 
to  oppose  to  them  ?  Shall  we  try  argument  ?  Sir,  we  have 
been  trying  that  for  the  last  ten  years.  Have  we  any 
thing  new  to  offer  upon  the  subject  P  Nothing.  We  have 
held  the  subject  up  in  every  light  of  which  it  is  capable, 
but  it  has  been  all  in  vain.  Shall  we  resort  to  entreaty 
and  humble  supplication?  What  terms  shall  we  findf, 
which  have  not  been  already  exhausted  ?  Let  us  not,  I 
beseech  you.  Sir,  deceive  ourselves  longer.  Sir,  we  have 
done  every  thing  that  could  be  done,  to  avert  the  storm 
which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  petitioned — we  have 
remonstrated — we  have  supplicated — we  have  prostrated 
ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored  its  inter- 
position, to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  ministry  and 
parliament.  Our  petitions  ha ve  been  slighted;  our  re- 
monstrances have  produced  additional  violence  and  in- 
sult ;  our  supplications  have  been  disregarded  ;  and  we 
have  been  spurned,  with  contempt,  from  tjie  foot  of  the 
throne. 

In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond 
hope  of  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  nu  longer 
any  room  for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free — if  we  mean 
to  preserve  inviolate,  those  inestimable  privileges  for 
which  we  have  been  so  long  contending — if  we  mean  not 
basely  to  abandon  the  noble  struggle  in  which  we  have 
been  so  long  engaged,  and  which  we  hare  pledged  our- 
selves never  to  abandon  until  the  glorious  object  of  our 
contest  shall  be  obtained — we  must  fight !  I  repeat  it,  Sir, 
we  must  fight — An  appeal  to  arms  and  to  the  God  of 
Hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us. 

M 


i34  REPUBLICAN  COMP1LEH. 

They  tell  us,  Sir,  that  we  are  weak— unable  to  cope  with 
60  formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be 
stronger  ?  Will  it  be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year  ? 
Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally  disarmed ;  and  when  a 
British  guard  shall  be  stationed  in  our  house  ?  Shall  we 
gather  strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction  ?  Shall  we  ac- 
quire the  means  of  effectual  resistance,  by  lying  supinely 
on  our  backs,  and  hugging  the  delusive  phantom  ot  hope, 
until  our  enemies  shall  have  bound  us  hand  and  foot  ? 
Sir,  we  are  not  weak,  if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  those 
means  which  the  God  of  nature  hath  placed  in  our  power — » 
three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  Lib- 
erty, and  in  such  a  country  as  that  which  we  possess,  are 
invincible  by  any  force  which  our  enemy  can  send  against 
us. 

Sir,  v/e  shall  not  light  our  battles  alone.  There  is  a 
jiist  God,  who  presides  over  the  destinies  of  nations,  and 
will  raise  up  friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us.  The  bat- 
tle, Sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone  ;  it  is  to  the  vigilant,  the 
active,  the  brave.  Besides,  Sir,  we  have  no  election.  If 
^ve  were  base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  re- 
tire from  the  contest.  There  is  no  retreat  but  in  submis- 
sion and  slavery !  Our  chains  are  forged : — their  clank- 
Ing  might  be  heard  on  the  plains  of  Boston !  The  war  is 
inevitable — and  let  it  come ! !  I  repeat  it,  Sir,  let  it 
come ! ! ! 

It  is  in  vain,  Sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen 
may  cry,  peace,  peace — but  there  is  no  peace !  The  war 
is  actually  begun !  The  next  gale  that  sweeps  from  the 
north,  will  bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resounding  arms! 
Our  brethren  are  already  in  the  field !  Why  stand  we  here 
idle?  What  is  it  that* gentlemen  wish  ?  What  would 
they  have  ?  Is  life  so  dear  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be 
purchased  at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery  ?  Forbid  it, 
Almighty  God ! — I  know  not  what  course  others  may 
take;  but  as  for  me,  GIVK  MB  LIBERTY,  OR  GIVE  ME 
DEATH  !  Orations, 


BIO&RAPHICAL. 


DR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 

WAS  born  at  Boston,  1706,  and  placed  at  a  very  early 
age,  under  one  of  his  brothers,  who  was  a  printer,  where 
he  made  a  rapid  progress  in  that  art,  so  useful  to  man- 
kind, and  contracted  an  attachment  for  the  press,  which 
continued  as  long  as  he  lived.  Scarcely  emerged  from 
infancy,  Franklin  was  a  philosopher,  without  being  con- 
scious of  it;  and  by  the  continued  exercise  of  his  genius, 
prepared  himself  for  those  great  discoveries,  which  in 
science  have  since  associated  his  name  with  that  of  New- 
ton, and  for  those  political  reflections,  which  have  placed 
him  by  the  side  of  a  Solon  and  a  Lycurgus. 

Soon  after  his  removal  from  Boston  to  Philadelphia, 
Franklin,  in  concert  with  some  other  young  men,  esta- 
blished a  small  club,  where  every  member,  after  his  work 
was  done,  and  on  holidays,  brought  his  stock  of  ideas, 
which  were  submitted  to  discussion. 

This  society,  of  which  the  young  printer  was  the  soul, 
has  been  the  source  of  every  useful  establishment  in  that 
state,  calculated  to  promote  the  progress  of  science,  the 
mechanical  arts,  and  particularly  the  improvement  of 
the  human  understanding.  Higher  employments,  how- 
ever, at  length  called  him  from  his  country,  which  he 
was  destined  to  serve  more  effectually  as  its  agent  iii  En- 
gland, whither  he  was  sent  in  1757, 


13»  REPUBLICAN  COMPILED 

The  stamp  act,  by  \vhich  the  British  minister  wished 
io  familiarize  the  Americans  to  pay  taxes  to  the  mother 
country,  revived  that  love  of  liberty  which  had  led  their 
forefathers  to  a  country  at  that  time  a  desert  ;  and  the 
colonies  formed  a  congress,  the  first  idea  of  which  had 
been  communicated  to  them  by  Franklin,  at  the  con- 
ferences at  Albany 5  in  1754.  The  war  that  was  just  ter- 
minated, and  the  exertions  made  by  them  to  support  it, 
had  given  them  a  conviction  of  their  strength ;  they  op- 
posed this  measure,  and  the  minister  gave  way,  but  he 
reserved  the  means  of  renewing  the  attempt.  Once  cau- 
tioned however,  they  remained  on  their  guard  ;  liberty* 
cherished  by  tlieir  alarms,  took  deeper  root,  and  the  rapid 
circulation  of  ideas,  by  means  of  newspapers,  for  the  in- 
troduction of  which  they  were  indebted  to  the  printer  of 
Philadelphia,  united  them  together  to  resist  every  fresh 
enterprize.  In  the  year  1 766,  this  printer,  called  to  the 
bar  of  the  house  of  commons,  underwent  that  famous  in- 
terrogatory, which  placed  the  name  of  Franklin  as  high 
in  politics,  as  it  was  in  natural  philosophy.  From  that 
time  he  defended  the  cause  of  America  with  a  firmness 
and  moderation,  becoming  a  great  man,  pointing  out  to 
the  ministry  all  the  errors  they  had  committed,  and  the 
consequences  they  would  produce,  till  the  period  when 
the  tax  on  tea,  meeting  the  same  opposition  as  the  stamp 
act  had  done,  England  blindly  fancied  herself  capable 
of  subjecting  by  force  3,000,000  of  men,  determined  to  be 
free,  at  a  distance  of  1000  leagues.  Every  man  is  ac- 
quainted with  the  particulars  of  that  war,  but  every  man 
lias  not  equally  reflected  on  the  bold  attempt  of  Franklin 
as  a  legislator.  Having  asserted  their  independence,  asd 
placed  themselves  in  the  rank  of  nations,  the  di  fie  rent 
colonies,  now  the  United  States  of  America,  adopted 
each  its  own  form  of  government,  and  retaining,  almost 
universally,  their  admiration  for  the  British  constitution, 
framed  them  from  the  same  principles,  variously  mo- 
delled. Franklin  alone,  disengaging  the  political  engine 
from  those  multiplied  movements  and  admired  counter- 
poises that  rendered  it  so  complicated,  proposed  the 
reducing  it  to  the  simplicity  of  a  single  legislative  body. 
This  grand  idea  startled  the  legislators  of  Pennsylvania  ; 
but  the  philosopher  removed  the  fears  of  many,  and  at 
length  determined  them  to  the  adoption  cf  his  principle. 
Having  given  laws  to  his  country,  Franklin  undertook 


BIOGRAPHICAL,  137 

again  to  serve  it  in  Europe,  not  by  representation  to  the 
metropolis  or  answers  at  the  bar  of  the  house  of  commons ; 
but,  by  treaties  with  France,  and  successively  with  ether 
powers. 

From  France  he  returned  to  America  in  1735,  and 
lived  five  years  after  this  period  :  for  three  years  he  was 
president  of  the  general  assembly  of  Pennsylvania;  he 
was  a  member  of  the  convention  that  established  the  new 
form  of  federal  government;  and  his  last  public  act  was 
a  grand  example  for  those  who  are  employed  in  the  legis- 
lation of  their  country.  In  this  convention  he  had  dif- 
fered in  some  points  from  the  majority ;  but  when  the  art 
ttcles  were  ultimately  decreed,  he  said  to  his  colleagues, 
"  we  ought  to  have  but  one  opinion  ;  the  good  of  our 
country  requires  that  the  resolution  should  be  unanimous" 
and  he  signed.  He  died,  April  1 7, 1 790.  As  an  author, 
he  never  wrote  a  work  of  any  length.  His  political 
works  consist  of  letters  or  short  tracts  ;  but  all  of  them, 
even  those  of  a  humourous  nature,  bear  the  marks  of  his 
observing  genius  and  mild  philosophy.  He  wrote  many 
for  that  rank  of  people  who  have  no  opportunity  for  study, 
and  whom  it  is  yet  of  so  much  consequence  to  instruct  5 
and  he  was  well  skilled  in  reducing  useful  truths  to 
maxims,  easily  retained,  and  sometimes  to  proverbs  or 
little  tales,  the  simple  and  natural  graces  of  which  ac- 
quire a  new  value  when  associated  with  the  name  of 
their  author.  The  mast  voluminous  of  his  works  is  the 
history  pf  his  own  life,  which  he  commenced  for  his  son, 
and  which  reaches  no  farther  than  1757.  He  speaks  of 
himself,  as  he  would  have  done  of  another  person,  deline- 
ating his  thoughts,  his  actions,  and  even  his  errors  and 
faults  ;  he  describes  the  unfolding  of  his  genius  and  tal- 
lents  with  the  simplicity  of  a  great  man.  who  knows  how 
to  do  justice  to  himself,  and  with  the  testimony  of  a  clear 
conscience  void  of  reproach.  In  short,  the  whole  life 
of  Franklin,  his  meditations  and  his  labours,  have  all 
been  directed  to  public  utility  ;  but  the  grand  object  that 
he  had  always  in  view,  did  not  shut  his  heart  against  pri- 
vate friendship :  he  loved  his  family,  and  his  friends,  and 
was  extremely  beneficent.  In  society  he  was  sententious, 
but  not  fluent;  a  listener  rather  than  a  talker;  an  in- 
forming, rather  than  a  pleasing  companion  :  impatient  of 
interruption,  he  often  mentioned  the  custom  of  the  Indi- 
ans, who  always  remain  silent  sometime  before  they  give 


135  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

an  answer  to  a  question  which  they  have  heard  attentive- 
ly; unlike  some  of  the  politest  societies  in  Europe, 
where  a  sentence  can  scarcely  be  finished  without  in- 
terruption. In  the  midst  of  his  greatest  occupations  for 
the  liberty  of  his  country,  he  had  some  physical  experi- 
ment always  near  him  in  his  closet;  and  the  sciences, 
which  he  had  rather  discovered  than  studied,  afforded 
him  a  continual  source  of  pleasure.  He  made  various 
bequests  and  donations  to  cities,  public  bodies  and  indi- 
viduals ;  and  requested  that  the  following  epitaph,  which 
he  composed  for  himself  some  years  ago,  might  b§  in- 
°cribed  on  his  tombstone : 

The  body  of 
BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN, 

Printer, 
(Like  the  covering  of  an  old  book, 

Its  contents  torn  out, 
And  stript  of  its  lettering  and  gilding,) 

Lies  here  food  for  worms ; 
'fee  the  work  itself  shall  not  be  lost,  but  \vill5- 

(as  he  believed,) 

Appear  once  more  in  a  new.  and  more 
Beautiful  edition,  corrected  and  amended 

by 

THE  AUTHOR. 

Biographical  Dictionary 


NATHANIEL  GREENE, 

A  MAJ-OH  GENERAL  of  the  army  of  the  United  State?> 
<was  born  in  Warwick,  Rhode  Island,  about  the  year  1740 
His  parents  were  Quakers.  His  father  was  an  anchor 
smith,  who  was  concerned  in  some  valuable  iron  works^ 
and  transacted  much  business.  While  he  was  a  boy,  he 
learned  the  Latin  language,  chiefly  by  his  own  unassist- 
ed industry.  Having  procured  a  small  library  >  his  mind 
was  much  improved,  though  the  perusal  of  military  his-t 
t^ry  occupied  a  considerable  share  of  his  attention.  Such 
•was  the  estimation  in  which  his  character  was  held,  that 
he  w^Sj  at  au  early  period  of  his  life^  chosen  a  member  of 


BIOGRAPHICAL,  ;3£ 

the  assembly  of  Rhode  Island.  After  the  battle  of  Lex- 
ington had  enkindled  at  once  the  spirit  of  the  Americans, 
throughout  the  whole  continent,  Mr.  Greene,  though  edu- 
cated in  the  peaceful  principles  of  the  friends,  could 
uot  extinguish  the  martial  ardor  which  had  been  ex- 
cited in  his  own  breast. — Receiving  the  command  of  three 
regiments  with  the  title  of  brigadier  general,  he  led  them 
to  Cambridge ;  in  consequence  of  which,  the  Quakers  re- 
nounced all  connexion  with  him  as  a  member  of  their  reli- 
gious body.  On  the  arrival  of  Washington  at  Cambridge, 
ne  was  the  first  who  expressed  to  the  commander  in 
chief  his  satisfaction  in  his  appointment,  and  he  soon 
gained  his  entire  confidence.  He  was  appointed  by  con- 
gress major  general  in  August,  1776.  In  the  battles  of 
Trenton,  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  December  following, 
and  of  Princeton,  on  the  third  of  January,  1777,  he  was 
much  distinguished.  He  commanded  the  left  wing  of 
the  American  army  at  the  battle  of  Germantown,  on  ther 
fourth  of  October.  In  March,  1778,  he  was  appointed 
quarter  master  general,  which  office  he  accepted  on  con- 
dition that  his  rank  in  the  army  should  not  be  affected 3 
and  that  he  should  retain  his  command  in  time  of  action. 
This  right  he  exercised  on  the  twenty -eight  of  June,  at 
Monmouth.  His  courage  and  skill  were  again  displayed 
on  the  twenty-ninth  of  August,  in  Rhode  Island.  He 
resigned,  in  this  year,  the  office  of  quarter  master  gen- 
eral, and  was-  succeeded  by  col.  Pickering.  After  the 
disasters  which  attended  the  American  arms  in  South 
Carolina,  he  was  appointed  to  supersede  Gates,  and  he 
look  the  command  in  the  southern  department,  Decem- 
ber 8,  1780.  Having  recruited  the  army,  whiah  had 
been  exceedingly  reduced  by  defeat  and  desertion,  he 
sent  out  a  detachment  under  the  brave  general  Morgan^ 
who  gained  the  important  victory  at  the  Cowpens,  Janu- 
ary 17,  1781.  Greene  effected  a  junction  with  him  on 
the  seventh  of  February,  but  on  account  of  the  superior 
numbers  of  Corn wallis,  he  retreated  with  great  skill  to 
Virginia,  Having  received  an  accession  to  his  forces, 
he  returned  to  North  Carolina,  and  in  a  battle  at  Guild- 
ford,  on  the  15th  of  March,  was  defeated.  The  victory, 
however,  was  dearly  bought  by  the  British,  for  their  loss 
was  greater  than  that  of  the  Americans,  and  no  advan- 
tages were  derived  from  it.  In  a  few  days,  Cornwallis 
fregan  to  march  towards  Wilnaington,  leaving  many  of  hia 


140  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

wounded  behind  him,  which  had  the  appearance  of  a  re* 
treat,  and  Greene  followed  him,  for  some  time.  But 
altering  his  plan,  he  resolved  to  re-commence  offensive 
operations  in  South  Carolina.  He  accordingly  marched 
directly  to  Camden,  where  on  the  25th  of  April,  he  was 
engaged  with  lord  Rawdon.  Victory  inclined  for  some 
time  to  the  Americans;  but  the  retreat  of  two  companies 
occasioned  the  defeat  of  the  whole  army.  Greene  retreat- 
ed in  good  order,  and  took  such  measures  as  effectually 
prevented  lord  Rawdon  from  improving  his  success,  and 
obliged  him,  in  the  beginning  of  May,  to  re  tire  beyond  the 
Saritee.  While  he  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Santee, 
Greene  hung  in  one  day  eight  soldiers,  who  had  deserted 
from  his  army.  For  three  months  afterwards  no  instance 
of  desertion  took  place.  A  number  of  forts  and  garrisons 
in  South  Carolina  now  fell  into  his  hands.  He  commenc- 
ed the  seige  of  seventy -six  on  the  twenty-second  of  May, 
but  was  obliged,  on  the  approach  of  lord  Rawdon, in  June, 
to  raise  the  siege.  The  army,  which  had  been  highly  en- 
couraged by  the  late  success,\vasnow  reduced  to  the  mel- 
ancholy necessity  of  retreating  to  the  extremity  of  the 
state.  The  American  commander  was  advised  to  retire 
to  Virginia  5  but  to  suggestions  of  this  kind,  he  replied, 
«  I  will  recover  South  Carolina,  or  die  in  the  attempt.'7 
Waiting  till  the  British  forces  were  divided,  he  faced 
about,  and  lord  Rawdon  was  pursued  in  his  turn,  and  was 
offered  battle  after  he  reached  his  encampment  at  Bange- 
burgh,  but  he  declined  it.  On  the  eighth  of  September, 
Greene  covered  himself  with  glory,  by  the  victory  at  the 
Eutaw  Springs,  in  which  the  British,  who  fought  with  the 
utmost  bravery,  lost  eleven  hundred  men,  and  the  Amer- 
icans about  half  that  number.  For  his  good  conduct  in 
this  action,  congress  presented  him  with  a  British  stand- 
ard and  a  golden  medal.  This  engagement  may  be  con- 
sidered as  closing  the  revolutionary  war  in  South  Caroli- 
na. During  the  remainder  of  his  command,  he  had  to 
struggle  with  the  greatest  difficulties  from  the  want  of 
supplies  for  his  troops.  Strong  symptoms  of  mutiny  ap- 
peared, but  his  firmness  and  decision  completely  quelled 
it. 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  way,  he  returned  to  Rhode 
Island,  where  the  greatest  dissensions  prevailed,  and  his 
endeavours  to  restore  harmony  were  attended  with  suc- 
cess. In  October,  1785?  he  sailed  to  Gecr^h;  where  he 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  141 

had  a  considerable  estate,  not  far  from  Savannah.  Here 
he  passed  his  time  as  a  private  citizen,  occupied  by  do- 
mestic  concerns.  \Vhile  walking  without  an  umbrella, 
the  intense  rays  of  the  sun  overpowered  him  and  occasion- 
ed an  inflamation  of  the  brain,  of  which  he  died,  June 
1 9th  1786,  in  the  forty -seventh  year  of  his  age.  In  Au- 
gust following,  congress  ordered.a  monument  to  be  erect- 
ed to  his  memory  at  the  seat  of  the  federal  government. 

General  Greene  possessed  a  humane  and  benevolent 
disposition,  and,  abhoring  the  cruelties  and  excesses,  of 
which  partizans  of  both  sides  were  guilty,  he  uniformly 
inculcated  a  spirit  of  moderation.  Yet  he  was  resolutely 
severe,  when  the  preservation  of  discipline  rendered  se- 
verity necessary.  In  the  campaign  of  178 1 ,  lie  displayed 
the  prudence,  the  military  skill,  the  unshaken  firmness, 
and  the  daring  courage,  which  are  seldom  combined,  and 
which  place  him  in  the  first  rank  of  American  officers. 
His  judgement  was  correct,  and  his  self-possession  never 
once  forsook  him.  In  one  of  his  letters  he  says,  that  he 
\vas  seven  months  in  the  field  without  taking  oft*  his 
clothes  for  a  single  night.  It  is  thought  that  he  was  the 
most  endeared  to  the  commander  in  chief  of  all  his  asso- 
ciates in  arms.  Washington  often  lamented  his  death 
with  the  keenest  sorrow.  Ibid. 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON, 

FIRST  Secretary  of  the  treasury  of  the  United  States, 
was  a  native  of  the  island  of  St.  -Croix,  and  was  born  in 
1 757.  His  father  was  the  younger  son  of  an  English  fam- 
ily, and  his  mother  was  an  American.  At  the  age  of  six- 
teen, he  accompanied  his  mother  to  New-YorkJand  en- 
tered a  student  of  Columbia  college,  in  which  he  continu- 
ed about  three  yeara.  While  a  member  of  this  institution, 
the  first  buddings  of  his  intellect,  gave  presages  of  his  fu- 
ture eminence.  .The  contest  with  Great  Britain  called 
forth  the  first  talents  on  each  side,  and  his  juvenile  pen 
asserted  the  claims  of  the  colonies  against  very  respecta- 
ble writers.  His  papers  exhibited  such  evidence  of  intel- 
lect and  wisdom,  that  they  were  ascribed  to  Mr.  Jay,  and 
when  the  truth  was  discovered,  America  saw,  with  astan-- 


1*2  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

ishment,  a  lad  of  seventeen  in  the  list  of  her  able  advo- 
cates. At  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  entered  the  American 
army,  as  an  officer  of  artillery.  The  first  sound  of  war 
awakened  his  martial  spirit,  and,  as  a  soldier,  lie  soon  con- 
ciliated the  regard  of  his  brethren  in  a'rms.  It  was  not 
long  before  he  attracted  the  notice  of  Washington,  who 
in  1777,  selected  him  as  an  aid,  with  the  rank  of  lieuten- 
ant colonel.  His  sound  understanding,  comprehensive 
views)  application  and  promptitude,  soon  gained  him  the 
entire  confidence  of  his  patron.  In  such  a  school,  it  was 
impossible  but  that  his  genius  should  be  nourished.  By 
his  intercourse  with  Washington,  by  surveying  his  plans, 
observing  his  consummate  prudence,  and  by  a  minute  in- 
spection of  the  springs  of  national  operations,  he  became 
fitted  for  command.  Throughout  the  campaign,  which 
terminated  in  the  capture  of  lord  Cornwallis,  colonel 
Hamilton  commanded  a  battallion  of  light  infantry.  At 
the  siege  of  York,  in  1781,  when  the  second  parallel  was 
opened,  two  redoubts,  which  flanked  it,  and  were  advanc- 
ed three  hundred  yards  in  front  of  the  British  works,  ve- 
ry much  annoyed  the  men  in  the  trenches.  It  was  re- 
solved to  possess  them,  and  to  prevent  jealousies,  the  at- 
tack of  the  one  was  committed  to  the  Americans,  and  of 
the  other  to  the  French.  The  detachment  of  the  Amer- 
icans was  commanded  by  the  Marquis  de  la  Fayette ; 
and  colonel  Hamilton,  at  his  own  earnest  request,  led  the 
advanced  corps,  consisting  of  two  battallions.  Towards 
the  close  of  the  day,  on  the  fourteenth  of  October,  the 
troops  rushed  to  the  charge  without  firing  a  single  gun. 
The  works  were  assaulted  with  irresistable  impetuosity, 
and  carried  with  but  little  loss.  Eight  of  the  enemy  fell 
in  the  action  ;  but.  notwithstanding  the  irritation  lately 
produced  by  the  infamous  slaughter  in  fort  Griswold,  not 
a  man  was  killed  who  ceased  to  resist. 

Soon  after  the  capture  of  Cornwallis,  Hamilton  sheath- 
ed his  sword,  and,  being  incumbered  with  a  family,  and 
destitute  of  funds,  at  the  age  of  twenty -five,  applied  to 
the  study  of  the  law.  In  this  profession  he  soon  rose  to 
distinction.  But  his  private  pursuits  could  not  detach 
him  from  regard  to  the  public  welfare.  The  violence 
which  was  meditated  against  the  property  and  persons  of 
all  who  remained  in  the  city  during  the  war,  called  forth 
his  generous  exertions,  and  by  the  aid  of  governor  Clinton  s 
the  faithless  and  revengeful  scheme  was  defeated.  In  a 


BIOGRAPHICAL,  tt3 

few  years,  a  more  important  affair  demanded  his  talents. 
After  witnessing  the  debility  of  the  confederation,  he  was 
fully  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  an  efficient  general 
government,  and  he  was  appointed,  in  1778,  a  member  of 
the  federal  convention  for  New -York.  He  assisted  in 
forming  the  constitution  of  our  country.  It  did  not,  in- 
deed, completely  meet  his  wishes.  He  was  afraid  that  it 
did  not  contain  sufficient  means  of  strength  for  its  own 
preservation,  and  that,  in  consequence,  we  should  share 
the  fate  of  many  other  republics,  and  pass  through  anarchy 
to  despotism.  He  was  in  favour  of  a  more  permanent 
executive  and  senate.  He  wished  for  a  strong  govern- 
ment, which  would  not  be  shaken  by  the  conflict  of  differ- 
ent interests,  through  an  extensive  territory,  and  which 
should  be  adequate  to  all  the  forms  of  national  exigency* 
He  was  apprehensive,  that  the  increased  wealth  and  pop- 
ulation of  the  states,  would  lead  to  encroachments  on  the 
union ;  and  he  anticipated  the  day,  when  the  general  gov- 
ernment, unable  to  support  itself,  would  tall.  These 
were  his  views  and  feelings,  and  he  freely  expressed  them. 
But  the  •patriotism  of  Hamilton  was  not  of  that  kind, 
which  yields  every  thing,  because  it  cannot  accomplish 
all  that  it  desires.  Believing  the  constitution  to  be  in- 
comparably superior  to  the  old  confederation,  he  exerted 
all  his  talents  in  its  support,  though  it  did  not  rise  to  his 
conception  of  a  perfect  system.  By  his  pen,  in  the  pa- 
papers  signed  Publius,  and  by  his  voice  in  the  council  of 
New-York,  he  contributed  much  to  its  adoption.  When 
the  government  was  organized  in  1789,  Washington 
placed  him  at  the  head  of  the  treasury.  In  the  new 
demands,  which  were  now  made  upon  his  talents,  the  re- 
sources of  his  mind  did  not  fail  him.  In  his  reports  he 
proposed  plans  for  funding  the  debt  of  the  union,  and  for 
assuming  the  debts  of  the  respective  states ;  for  establish- 
ing a  bank  and  mint,  and  for  procuring  a  revenue.  He 
wished  to  redeem  the  reputation  of  his  country,  by  satis- 
fying her  creditors ;  and  to  combine  with  the  government 
such  a  monied  interest,  as  might  facilitate  its  operations. 
But,  while  he  opened  sources  of  wealth  to  thousands,  by 
establishing  public  credit,  and  thus  restoring  the  public 
paper  to  its  original  value,  he  did  not  enrich  himself. 
He  did  not  take  advantage  of  his  situation,  nor  improve 
the  opportunity  he  enjoyed  for  acquiring  a  fortune. 
Though  accused  of  amassing  wealth,  he  did  vest  a  dollar 


14*  HE  PUBLIC  AN  COMPILER. 

in  the  public  funds/  He  was  exquisitly  delicate  in  re- 
gard to  his  official  character,  being  determined,  if  possi- 
ble, to  prevent  the  impeachment  of  his  motives,  and  pre- 
serve his  integrity  and  good  name  unimpaired. 

In  June,  1804,  colonel  Burr,  vice-president  of  the 
United  States,  addressed  a  letter  to  general  Hamilton, 
requiring  his  acknowledgment  or  denial  of  the  use  of  an 
expression,  derogatory  to  the  honour  of  the  former. 
This  demand  was  deemed  inadmissable;  and  a  duel  was 
the  consequence.  After  the  close  of  the  circuit  court, 
the  parties  met  at  Hoboken.  on  the  morning  of  Wednes- 
day, July  the  eleventh,  and  Hamilton  fell  on  the  same 
spot,  where  his  son,  a  few  years  before,  had  fallen,  in 
obedience  to  the  same  principle  of  honour,  and  in  the 
same  violation  of  the  laws  of  God  and  of  man.  He  was 
carried  into  the  city,  and  being  desirous  of  receiving 
the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  supper,  he  immediately  sent 
for  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mason.  As  the  principles  of  his  church 
prohibited  him  from  administering  the  ordinance  in  pri- 
vate, this  minister  of  the  gospel  informed  general  Hamil- 
ton, that  the  sacrament  was  an  exhibition  and  pledge  of 
the  mercies  which  the  Son  of  God  had  purchased,  and 
that  the  absence  of  the  sign  did  not  exclude  from  the 
mercies  signified,  which  were  accessible  to  him  by  faith 
in  their  gracious  Author.  He  replied  "  I  am  aware  of 
that.  It  is  only  as  a  sign  that  I  wanted  it."  In  the  con- 
versation which  ensued,  he  disavowed  all  intention  of 
taking  the  life  of  colonel  Burr,  and  declared  his  abhor- 
rence of  the  whole  transaction.  When  the  sin  of  which 
he  had  been  guilty  was  intimated  to  him,  he  assented 
with  strong  emotion  ;  and  when  the  infinite  merit  of  the 
Redeemer,  as  the  propitiation  for  sin,  the  sole  ground  of 
our  acceptance  with  God,  was  suggested,  he  said  with 
emphasis  :  "  I  have  a  tender  reliance  on  the  mercies  of 
the  Almighty,  through  the  merits  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ."  The  Rev.  Bishop  Moore  was  afterwards  sent 
for,  and,  after  making  suitable  inquiries  of  the  penitence 
and  faith  of  general  Hamilton,  and  receiving  his  assur- 
ance that  he  would  never  again,  if  restored  to  health,  be 
engaged  in  a  similar  transaction,  but  would  employ  all 
his  influence  in  society  to  discountenance  the  barbarous 
custom,  administered  to  him  the  communion.  After 
this  his  mind  was  composed.  He  expired  about  two 


BIOGRAPHICAL. 

o'clock,  on  Thursday,  July  12,  1804,  aged  about  forty- 
seven  years. 

General  Hamilton  possessed  very  uncommon  powers  of 
mind.  To  whatever  subject  he  directed  his  attention.^. 
lie  was  able  to  grasp  it;  and  in  whatever  lie  engaged,  in 
that  he  excelled.  So  stupendous  were  his  talent^,  and 
so  patient  was  his  industry,  that  no  investigation  present- 
ed difficulties  which  he  could  not  conquer.  In  the  class 
of  men  of  intellect  he  held  the  first  rank.  His  eloquence 
was  of  the  most  interesting  kind ;  and  when  new  excr- 
Hons  were  required,  he  rose  in  new  strength,  and  touch- 
ing at  his  pleasure  every  string  of  pity  or  terror,  of  indig- 
nation or  grief,  he  benHhe  passions  of  others  to  his  pur* 
pose.  At  the  bar  he  gained  the  first  eminence.  Ibid 


WILLIAM  PENN, 

AN  eminent  writer  among  the  Quakers,  and  the  plant- 
er and  legislator  of  Pennsylvania,  was  born  at  London, 
the  14th  of  October,  1644.  In  1660,  he  was  entered  a  gen- 
tleman commoner  of  Christ  Church,  in  Oxford,  where,  hav- 
ing before  received  an  impression  from  the  preaching  of 
one  Thomas  Loe,  a  Quaker,  withdrew,  with  sone  other 
students,  from  the  national  worship,  and  held  private 
meetings,  for  prayer  and  preaching.  This  gave  great  of- 
fence to  the  heads  of  the  colleges,  and  Mr.  Penn?  though 
but  16  years  of  age,  was  fined  for  non-conformity,  and 
still  continuing  his  religious  exercises,  was  at  length  ex- 
pelled his  college.  Upon  his  return  home,  he  was,  for 
the  same  reason,  treated  with  great  severity  by  his  fa- 
ther, who  at  last  turned  him  out  of  doors  :  but  his  resent- 
ment abating,  he  sent  him  to  France,  with  some  persons 
of  quality,  where  he  continued  a  considerable  time,  and 
returned  not  only  well  skilled  in  the  French  language, 
but  a  polite  and  accomplished  gentleman.  About  the 
year  1666,  his  father  committed  to  his  care  a  considera- 
ble estate  in  Ireland  ;  but  being  found  in  one  of  the 
Quaker  meetings  in  Cork,  he  with  many  others,  was 
thrown  into  prison,  but  on  his  writing  to  the  earl  of  Or- 
rery, was  soon  discharged.  However  his  father  being  in- 
formed of  this,  sent  for  him  to  England,  and  finding  him 
N 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

inflexible  to  all  his  arguments,  turned  him  out  of  doors  a 
second  time.  About  1668,  he  became  a  public  preacher 
among  the  Quakers,  and  that  year  was  committed  close 
prisoner  to  the  Tower,  where  he  wrote  several  treatises, 
and  being  discharged  after  seven  months  imprisonment, 
v.erit  tcTireland,  where  he  also  preached  amongst  the 
Quakers.  Returning  to  England,  he  was,  in  1670,  com- 
mitted to  Newgate,  for  preaching  in  Grace  Church-Street 
meeting-house,  London,  but  being  tried  at  the  sessions  - 
house  in  the  Old  Bailey,  he  was  acquitted.  On  the  16th 
of  September,  the  same  year,  his  father,  who  was  then 
perfectly  reconciled  to  him,  died,  and  left  him  a  plenti- 
ful fortune  ;  but  his  persecutions  were  not  yet  at  an  end ; 
for  the  5th  of  February,  167 1,  he  was  committed  to  New- 
gate, for  preaching  at  a  meeting  in  Wheeler-Street,  Lon- 
don, and  during  his  imprisonment,  which  lasted  six 
months,  he  wrote  several  treatises.  After  his  discharge, 
he  went  into  Holland  aad  Germany;  and,  in  1672,  mar- 
ried, and  settled  with  his  family  at  Rick  mans  worth,  in 
Hart  ford  shire.  The  same  year  he  published  several 
pieces,  and  particularly  one  against  lleeve  and  Mug- 
gleton. 

In  1677,  he 'again  travelled  into  Holland  and  Ger- 
many, to  propagate  his  opinions.  In  1681,  Charles  II. 
in  consideration  of  the  several  debts  due  from  the  crown, 
to  Mr.  Penn's  family,  granted  him  and  his  heirs  the  pro- 
vince lying  on  the  west  side  of  the  river  Delaware,  whic-i 
from  tfience  obtained  the  name  of  Pennsylvania ;  upon 
"vhichMr.  Penn  published  a  brief  account  of  that  pro- 
vince, with  the  kings  patent,  and  proposing  an  easy  pur- 
chase of  lands,  and  good  terms  of  settlement,  for  such  as 
were  inclined  to  remove  thither  ;  many  came  over,  when 
he  appointed  commissioners  to  purchase  the  land  he  had 
received  from  the  king,  of  the  native  Indians,  and  con- 
cluded a  peace  with  them.  The  city  of  Philadelphia  was 
planned  and  built;  and  he  himself  drew  up  the  funda- 
mental constitutions  of  Pennsylvania  in  twenty-four  ar- 
ticles. In  1681  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Royal 
Society;  and  the  next  year  embarked  for  Pennsylvania, 
\vhere  he  continued  about  two  years,  and  then  returned 
to  England.  Upon  the  accession  of  kin«;  James  to  the 
throne,  he  was  taken  into  great  favour  with  his  majesty, 
which  exposed  him  to  the  imputation  of  being  a  papist ; 
and  Dr.  Tillotson,  among  others,  having  entertained  a 


B1C  GRAPHICAL.  147 

suspicion  of  him,  Mr.  Penn,  fully  vindicated  himself  > 
however,  upon  the  revolution,  he  was  examined  before 
the  council,  in  December,  1688,  and  obliged  to  give  se- 
curity on  the  first  day  of  term,  which  was  afterwards 
continued.  He  was  several  times  discharged  and  ex- 
amined ;  and  at  length  warrants  being  issued  out  against 
him,  he  was  obliged  to  conceal  himself  for  two  or  three 
years ;  however,  being  at  last  permitted  to  appear  before 
the  king  and  council,  he  represented  his  innocence  so  ef- 
fectually that  he  was  acquitted. 

In  1 699,  he,  with  his  wife  and  family,  embarked  for 
Pennsylvania,  whence  he  returned  itf  1701,  in  order  to 
vindicate  his  proprietary  right,  which  was  attacked  dur- 
ing his  absence. 

Upon  queen  Anne's  accession  to  the  crown,  he  was  in 
great  favour  with  her ;  but,  in  1707,  he  was  involved  in  a 
law-suit  with  the  executors  of  a  person  who  had  formerly 
been  his  steward :  but  though  he  was  generally  thought 
to  be  aggrieved,  the  court  ot  chancery  did  not  think  pro- 
per to  relieve  him,  in  consequence  of  which,  he  was 
obliged  to  live  within  the  rules  of  the  fleet  for  several 
months,  till  the  matter  in  dispute  wras  accommodated. 
He  died,  at  his  seat,  at  Troyford,  in  Buckinghamshire, 
30th  of  July,  1718.  in  the  74th  year  of  his  age.  Mr. 
Penn's  generous  and  pacific  spirit,  joined  to  his  great 
abilities,  deservedly  procured  him  respect  from  the  most 
distinguished  persons,  and  made  him  universally  beloved, 

Ibid. 


Sketch  of  the  life  of  Major  General  Arthur  St.  Clairy 
by  Gen.  Wilkinson. 

I  REMAINED  with  the  brigade  on  Mount  Independence, 
until  the  beginning  of  September,  when  brigadier-general 
de  Roche  Fernioy  took  command  of  it,  and  I  was  trans- 
ferred to  that  able,  but  unfortunate  officer.  General  St. 
Clair,  to  whose  instruction  I  am  much  indebted  for  my 
principles  of  service  and  knowledge  of  details.  He  hai 
Deen  introduced  at  an  early  age,  into  the  Royal  American 
or  60th  British  regiment,  and  during  the  seven  years* 
war,  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  active  service  under  di*- 


148  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

tinrguished  commanders.  He  served  at  the  taking  of 
Louisburg  under  General  Amherst,  and  the  next  cam- 
paign carried  a  pair  of  colours  on  the  plains  of  Abraham, 
the  day  General  Wolfe  bartered  his  life  for  deathless  re- 
nown. The  native  ingenuity,  liberal  education,  literary 
taste,  and  polished  address  of  Ensign  St.  Clair,  could  not 
escape  the  observation  of  the  conqueror  of  Canada,  and 
his  able  coadjutors^  Siorcton,  Townshend,  and  Murray; 
and  the  circumstance  of  their  attentions,  enlarged  his 
sphere  of  information,  and  gave  scope  to  his  genius  and 
dispositions.  After  the  peace  of  ?6S,  he  sold  out  and  en- 
tered into  trade,  for  which  the  generosity  of  his  nature 
utterly  disqualified  him ;  he,  of  course,  soon  became  dis- 
gusted with  a  profitless  pursuit,  and,  having  married,  after 
several  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  he  located  himself  in  Li- 
gonier  valley,  west  of  the  Allegheny  mountain,  and  near 
the  ancient  route  from  Philadelphia  to  Pittsburgh.  In 
this  situation  the  American  revolution  found  him,  sur- 
rounded by  a  rising  family,  in  the  enjoyment  of  ease  and 
independence,  with  the  fairest  prospects  of  affluent  for- 
tune, the  foundation  of  which  had  been  already  establish- 
ed by  his  diligence,  industry,  and  enterprize.  From  this 
peaceful  abode,  these  sweet  domestic  enjoyments,  and 
the  flattering  prospects  which  accompanied  them,  he  w  as 
drawn  by  the  claims  of  a  troubled  country.  A  man 
known  to  have  been  a  military  officer,  and  distinguished 
for  knowledge  and  integrity,  could  not,  in  those  times,  be 
concealed  even  by  his  favourite  mountains,  and  therefore, 
without  application  or  expectation  on  his  part,  he  receiv- 
ed the  commission  of  a  colonel  in  the  month  of  December, 
1775,  t(joether  with  a  letter  from  President  Hancoc '*, 
pressing  him  to  repair  immediately  to  Philadelphia.  He 
obeyed  the  summons,  and  took  lea*ve  riot  only  of  his  wife 
and  children,  but  in  effect,  of  his  fortune,  to  embark  in 
the  cause  of  liberty  and  the  united  colonies.  In  six 
weeks  he  completed  the  levy  of  a  regiment  of  750  men  5 
six  companies  of  which  marched  in  time  to  join  our  troops 
before  Quebec;  he  followed  with  the  other  four  in  May. 
and  after  the  unlucky  affair  at  Three  Rivers,  by  his 
counsel  to  General  Sullivan  at  Sorel,  he  fcaved  the  army 
ve  had  in  Canada.  Subsequently  to  these  events,  he 
rose  to  the  rank  of  major -general,  and  was  honoured  with 
the  confidence  and  friendship  of  General  Washington  to 
ay  of  his  death.  At  Trenton  he  saved  the  army  by 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  U9- 

rue  flank  movement  to  the  right,  which  he  recommended 
in  council  on  the  night  of  the  second  January,  1777;  and 
at  Ticonderoga,  in  the  same  year,  I  beheld  him  rising 
superior  to  the  selfish  obligations  which  fetter  mankind ; 
and,  by  preferring  the  safety  of  the  army  confided  to  his 
charge,  to  the  bloody  honours  which  were  within  his  reach, 
he  voluntarily  plunged  himself  into  the  gulph  of  popular 
detraction.  'Well  do  I  remember  his  reply  to  me,  when, 
deploring  the  necessity  of  our  retreat:  "  It  must  be  so, 
my  boy.  'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  success,  but 
weHl  do  more,  ive  will  deserve  it.  I  know  I  could  save 
my  character  by  sacrificing  the  army  ;  but  were  I  to  do 
so,  I  should  forfeit  that  which  the  world  could  not  restore, 
and  which  it  cannot  take  away,  the  approbation  of  my 
conscience" 


DAVID  KIT TENHOUSE,  L.  L.  D.  F.  R.  S. 

AN  eminent  philosopher,  was  descended  from  ances- 
tors who  emigrated  from  Holland  and  was  born  in  Ger- 
mantown,  Pennsylvania,  April  8,  1735.  The  early  part 
of  his  life  was  spent  in  agricultural  employments ;  and  his 
plough,  the  fences,  and  even  the  stones  of  the  field  were 
marked  with  figures,  which  denoted  a  talent  for  mathe- 
matical studies.  A  delicate  constitution  rendering  him 
unfit  for  the  labours  of  husbandry,  he  devoted  himself  to 
the  trade  of  a  clock  and  mathematical-instrument-maker. 
In  these  arts  he  was  his  own  instructor.  During  his  re- 
sidence with  his  father  in  the  country,  he  made  himself 
master  of  Newton's  Principia,  which  he  read  in  the  En- 
glish translation  of  Mr.  Mott.  Here  also  he  became  ac- 
quainted with  fluxions,  of  which  sublime  invention,  he 
believed  himself,  for  some  time,  the  first  author.  He  did 
not  know  for  some  years  afterwards,  that  a  contest  had 
been  carried  on,  between  Newton  and  Leibnitz,  for  the 
honour  of  that  great  discovery.  At  the  age  of  t'venty- 
three,  without  education  and  without  advantages,  he  be- 
came the  rival  of  the  two  greatest  mathematicians  in 
Europe. 

In  his  retired  situation,  while  working  at  his  trade,  he 
planned  and  executed  an  orrery,  by  which  he  represerit- 


150-  REPUBLIC  VN  COMPILER, 

ed  the  revolutions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  more  corn 
pletely  than  ever  before  had  been  done.  This  master 
piece  of  mechanism  was  purchased  by  the  college  of  New 
Jersey.  A  second  was  made  by  him  after  the  same  mo- 
del, for  the  use  of  the  college  of  Philadelphia,  where  it  has 
commanded,  for  many  years,  the  admiration  of  the  inge- 
nious and  learned.  In  1770,  he  was  induced,  by  the 
urgent  request  of  some  friends,  who  knew  his  merit,  to 
exchange  his  beloved  retirement  for  a  residence  in  Phila- 
delphia. 

In  this  city  he  continued  his  employment  for  several 
years;  and  his  clocks  had  a  high  reputation,  a«d  his 
mathematical  instruments  were  thought  superior  to  those 
Imported  from  Europe.  His  first  communication  to  the 
Philosophical  Society  of  Philadelphia,  of  which  he  was 
elected  a  member,  was  a  calculation  of  the  transit  of 
Venus,  as  it  was  to  happen  June  3,  1769.  He  was  one 
of  those  appointed  to  observe  it  in  the  township  of  Norri- 
ton.  This  phenomenon  had  never  been  seen  but  twice' 
before,  by  any  inhabitants  of  our  earth,  and  would  never 
be  seen  again  by  any  person  then  living.  The  day  ar- 
lived,  and  there  was  no  cloud  in  the  horizon ;  the  observ- 
ers, in  silent  and  trembling  anxiety,  waited  for  the  pre- 
dicted moment  of  observation ;  it  carrte,  and  in  the  in- 
stant of  contact  between  the  planet  and  sun,  an  emotion 
of  joy,  so  powerful,  was  excited  in  the  breast  of  Mr.  Hit- 
tenhouse,  that  he  fainted.  On  the  ninth  of  November 
following,  he  observed  the  transit  of  Mercury.  An  ac- 
count of  these  observations  was  published  in  the  trans- 
actions of  the  Society.  In  1775  he  was  appointed  one 
of  the  commissioners,  for  settling  a  territorial  dispute 
between  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia;  and. to  his  talents, 
moderation,  and  firmness,  was  ascribed,  in  a  great  de- 
gree, its  satisfactory  adjustment,  in  1 785.  He  assisted  in 
determining  the  western  limits  of  Pennsylvania,  in  1784? 
and  the  northern  line  of  the  same  state,  in  1786.  He 
^,vas  also  called  upon  to  assist  in  fixing  the  boundary  line 
between  Massachusetts  and  New  York,  in  1787.  In  his 
excursions  through  the  wilderness,  he  carried  with  him 
his  habits  of  inquiry  and  observation.  Nothing  in  our 
mountains,  soils,  rivers,  and  springs,  escaped  his  notice. 
But  the  only  records  of  what  he  collected  are  private  let- 
ters and  the  memories  of  his  friends.  In  1791,  he  was 
chosen  president  of  the  Philosophical  Society,  as  succes- 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  151 

gor  to  Br.  Franklin,  and  was  annually  re-elected  till  his 
death.  His  unassuming  dignity  opened  to  him  respect. 
Soon  after  he  accepted  the  president's  chair,  lie  made  the 
Society  a  donation  of  three  hundred  pounds.  He  held 
the  office  of  treasurer  of  Pennsylvania,  by  an  annual  and 
unanimous  vote  of  the  legislature,  from  1787  to  1789a 
In  this  period  he  declined  purchasing  the  smallest  por- 
tion of  the  public  debt  of  the  state,  lest  his  integrity 
should  be  impeached.  In  1792,  he  accepted  the  office  of 
director  of  the  mint  of  the  United  States ;  but  his  ill  state 
of  health  induced  him  to  resign  it  in  1795.  When  the 
solitude  of  his  study  was  rendered  less  agreeable  by  hi* 
indisposition  than  in  former  years,  he  passed  his  even- 
ings in  reading  or  conversing  with  his  wife  and  daughters. 
In  his  last  illness,  which  was  acute  and  short,  he  retain- 
ed the  usual  patience  and  benevolence  of  his  temper. 
He  died  June  26th,  179G,  in  the  sixty -fifth  year  of 
his  age,  in  the  full  belief  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  in 
the  anticipation  of  clearer  discoveries  of  the  perfections 
of  God,  in  the  eternal  world.  He  was  a  man  oi  exten- 
sive knowledge.  Being  intimately  acquainted  with  the 
French,  German,  and  Dutch  languages,  he  derived  from 
them  the  discoveries  of  foreign  nations.  His  mind  was 
the  repository  of  all  ages  and  countries.  He  did  not  en- 
joy, indeed,  the  advantages  of  a  public  education,  but  his 
mind  was  not  shackled  by  its  forms,  nor  interrupted  in 
its  pursuit  of  greater  objects,  by  the  claims  of  subjects 
minute  and  trifling.  In  his  political  sentiments  he  was  a 
republican;  he  was  taught  by  his  father  to  admire  an 
elective  and  representative  government:  he  early  pre- 
dicted the  immense  increase  of  talents  and  knowledge, 
which  would  be  infused  into  the  American  minds,  by 
our  republican  institutions;  and  he  anticipated  the  bless- 
ed effects  of  our  revolution,  in  sowing  the  seeds  of  a  new 
order  of  things  in  other  parts  of  the  world.  He  believed 
political,  as  well  as  moral  evil,  to  be  intruders  in- 
to the  society  of  man.  In  the  more  limited  circles  of 
private  life,  he  Commanded  esteem  and  affection.  His 
house  and  manner  of  living  exhibited  the  taste  of  a  philo- 
sopher, the  simplicity  of  a  republican,  and  the  temper  of 
a  Christian.  His  researches  into  natural  philosophy  gave 
him  such  ideas  of  the  Divine  perfections,  for  his  mind  was 
not  pre-occupied  in  early  life  with  the  fictions  of  ancient 
poets  and  the  vices  of  the  heathen  gods,  But  he  did  not 


1 50  HEP  JB  LIC AN  COMPILER. 

confine  himself  to  the  instructions  of  nature ;  he  believed 
the  Christian  revelation.  He  observed,  as  an  argument 
in  favour  of  its  truth,  that  the  miracles  of  our  Saviour 
differed  from  all  pretended  miracles  in  being  entirely  of 
a  benevolent  nature.  The  testimony  of  a  man,  possessed 
of  so  exalted  an  understanding,  outweighs  the  declara- 
tions of  thousands.  He  died,  believing  in  a  life  to  come  *7 
and  his  body  was  interred  beneath  his  observatory,  near 
his  house.  He  published  an  oration  delivered  before  the 
Philosophical  Society,  1775,  the  subject  of  which  is  the 
history  of  astronomy  ;  and  a  few  memoirs  or  astronomi- 
cal and  mathematical  subjects,  in  the  first  four  volumes 
of  the  transactions  of  the  Society.  Ibid. 


JOHN  RUTLEDGE 

WAS  born  in  the  year  1759,  and  was  the  son  of  Dr. 
John  Rutledge,  who,  with  his  brother  Andrew,  both  na 
tives  of  Ireland,  arrived  in  Carolina  about  the  year  1735, 
and  there  practised,  the  one  law  and  the  other  physic, 
Dr.  Rutledge  married  Miss  Hext,  who  in  the  15th  year 
of  her  age  gave  birth  to  the  subject  of  this  memoir.  At 
a  very  early  period  she  was  left  a  widow,  and  added  one 
to  the  many  examples  of  illustrious  matrons  who,  devot- 
ing their  whole  attention  to  their  orphan  offspring,  have 
brought  forward  distinguished  ornaments  of  human  na- 
ture. 

The  early  education  of  John  Rutledge  was  conducted 
by  David  Rhind,  an  excellent  classical  scholar,  and  one 
of  the  most  successful  of  the  early  instructors  of  youth 
in  Carolina.  After  he  had  made  considerable  progress 
»n  the  latin  and  greek  classics,  he  entered  on  the  study 
of  law  with  James  Parsons,  and  was  afterwards  entered 
a  student  in  the  temple,  and  proceeding  barrister,  came 
out  to  Charleston,  and  commenced  the  practice  of  law 
in  1761.  One  of  the  first  causes  in  which  he  engaged, 
was  an  action  for  breach  of  a  promise  cf  marriage.  The 
subject  was  interesting,  and  gave  an  excellent  opportu- 
nity for  displaying  his  talents.  It  was  improved?  and 
his  eloquence  astonished  all  who  heard  him, 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  153 

Instead  of  rising  by  degrees  to  the  head  of  his  profes- 
sion, he  burst  forth  at  once  the  able  lawyer  and  accom- 
plished oratdr.  Business  flowed  in  upon  him.  He  was 
employed  in  the  most  difficult  causes,  and  retained  with 
the  largest  fees  that  were  usually  given.  The  client  in 
whose  service  he  engaged,  was  supposed  to  be  in  a  fair 
way  of  gaining  his  cause.  He  was  but  a  short  time  in 
practice,  when  that  cloud  began  to  lower  which,  in  the 
course  often  or  twelve  years,  burst  forth  in  a  revolution- 
ary storm.  In  the  year  1764,  Governor  Boone  refused 
to  administer  to  Christopher  Gadsden  the  oaths  which 
the  law  required  everv  person  returned  as  a  member  in 
the  commons  house  of  assembly  to  take  before  he  enter- 
ed on  his  legislative  functions.  This  kindled  the  indig- 
nation of  the  house,  as  being  an  interference  with  their 
constitutional  privileges,  as  the  sole  judges  of  the  quali- 
fications of  their  own  members.  In  rousing  the  assem- 
bly and  the  people  to  resist  all  interferences  of  the  royal 
governors,  in  deciding  who  should,  or  who  should  not  be 
members  of  the  commons  house  of  assembly,  John  Rut- 
ledge  kindled  a  spark  which  has  never  since  been  extin- 
guished. 

This  controversy  was  scarcely  ended  when  the  memo- 
rable stamp  act  was  passed.  The  British  colonies  were 
then  detached  from  each  other,  and  had  never  acted  in 
concert.  A  proposition  was  made  by  the  assembly  of 
Massachusetts  to  the  different  provincial  assemblies  for 
appointing  committees  from  each  to  meet  in  congress  as 
it  rallying  point  of  union.  To  this  novel  project,  many 
objections  were  made }  some  doubted  its  legality — others 
its  expedience,  and  most  its  efficiency.  To  remove  ob- 
jections— to  conciliate  opposition,  and  to  gain  the  hearty 
concurrence  of  the  assembly  and  the  people,  was  no  easy 
matter.  In  accomplishing  these  objects,  the  abilities  of 
John  Rutledge  were  successfully  exerted.  Objections 
varnished—prejudices  gave  way  before  his  eloquence. 
The  public  mind  was  illuminated,  and  a  more  correct 
mode  of  thinking  took  place.  A  vote  for  appointing  dep- 
uties to  a  continental  congress  was  carried  in  South-Car- 
olina  at  an  early  day,  and  before  it  had  been  agreed  to 
by  the  neighboring  states.  Christopher  Gadsden,  Thorn- 
as  Lynch  and  John  Rutledge  were  appointed.  The  last 
was  the  youngest,  and  had  very  lately  began  to  tread  the 
threshold  of  manhood.  When  this  first  congress  met  in 


154  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

New-York  in  1765,  the  members  of  the  distant  provinces 
were  surprised  at  the  eloquence  of  the  young  member 
from  Carolina.  In  the  means  of  education,  that  pro- 
vince was  far  behind  those  to  the  northward.  Of  it  little 
more  was  known  or  believed  than  that  it  produced  rice 
and  indigo,  and  contained  a  large  proportion  of  slaves, 
and  a  handful  of  free  men,  and  that  most  of  the  latter 
were  strangers  to  vigorous  health — all  self-indulgent,  and 
none  accustomed  to  active  exertions  either  of  mind  or 
body.  From  such  a  province,  nothing  great  was  expect- 
ed. A  respectable  committee  of  its  assembly,  and  the 
distinguished  abilities  of  one  of  them,  who  was  among 
the  youngest  members  of  the  congress,  produced  at  this 
first  general  meeting  of  the  colonies,  more  favorable  ideas 
of  South-Carolina  than  had  hitherto  prevailed. 

After  the  repeal  of  the  stamp  act,  John  Rutledge  was 
for  some  years  no  further  engaged  in  politics  than  as  a 
lawyer  and  a  member  of  the  provincial  legislature.  In 
both  capacities  he  was  admired  as  a  public  speaker.  His 
ideas  were  clear  and  strong — his  utterance  rapid  but  dis- 
tinct— his  voice,  action,  and  energetic  manner  of  speak- 
ing, forcibly  impressed  his  sentiments  on  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  all  who  heard  him.  At  reply  he  was  quick — 
instantly  comprehended  the  force  of  an  objection — and 
saw  at  once  the  best  mode  of  weakening  or  repelling  it. 
He  successfully  used  both  argument  and  wit  for  invalid- 
ating the  observations  of  his  adversary :  by  the  former  he 
destroyed  or  weakened  their  force ;  by  the  latter  he  plac- 
ed them  in  so  ludicrous  a  point  of  light  that  it  often  con- 
vinced, and  scarcely  ever  failed  of  conciliating  and  pleas- 
ing his  hearers.  Many  were  the  triumphs  of  his  elo- 
quence at  the  bar  and  in  the  legislature ;  and  in  the  for- 
mer case,  probably  more  than  strict  impartial  justice 
would  sanction  ;  for  judges  and  juries,  counsel  and  audi- 
ence, hung  on  his  accents. 

In  or  after  the  year  1774,  a  new  and  more  extensive 
fleld  was  opened  before  him.  When  news  of  the  Boston 
port-bill  reached  Charleston,  a  general  meeting  of  the 
inhabitants  was  called  by  expresses  sent  over  the  state. 
After  the  proceedings  of  the  British  parliament  were 
stated  to  this  convention  of  the  province,  sundry  propo- 
sitions were  offered  for  consideration.  To  the  appoint- 
ment of  delegates  for  a  general  congress,  no  objec- 
tion was  made.  But  this  was  followed  by  propositions 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  152 

for  instructing  them  how  far  they  might  go  in  pledging 
the  province  to  support  the  Bostonians.  Such  a  discord- 
ance of  opinion  was  discovered  as  filled  the  minds  of  the 
friends  of  liberty  with  apprehensions  that  the  meeting 
would  prove  abortive.  In  this  crisis,  John  Rutledge,  in 
a  most  eloquent  speech,  advocated  a  motion  which  he 
brought  forward  to  give  no  instructions  whatever;  but  to 
invest  the  men  of  their  choice  with  full  authority  to  con- 
cur in  any  measure  they  thought  best;  and  to  pledge  the 
people  of  South -Carolina  to  abide  by  whatever  they  would 
agree  to.  He  demonstrated  that  any  thing  less  than  pie- 
nary  discretion  to  this  extent,  would  be  unequal  to  the 
crisis.  To  those  who,  after  stating  the  dangers  of  such 
extensive  powers,  begged  to  be  informed  what  must  be 
clone  in  case  the  delegates  made  a  bad  use  of  their  un- 
limited authority  to  pledge  the  state  to  any  extent,  a  la- 
conic answer  was  returned:  "Hang  them."  An  im- 
pression was  made  on  the  multitude.  Their  minds  were 
subdued  by  the  decision  of  the  proposed  measure,  and 
the  energy  with  which  it  was  supported.  On  that  day, 
and  by  this  vote,  the  revolution  was  virtually  accomplish- 
ed. By  it  the  people  of  Carolina  determined  to  be  free, 
deliberately  invested  five  men  of  their  choice  as  their 
representatives,  with  full  powers  to  act  for  them,  and  to 
take  charge  of  their  political  interests.  Royal  govern- 
ment received  a  mortal  wound,  and  the  representative 
system  was  planted  in  its  stead.  The  former  lingered 
for  a  few  months,  and  then  expired.  The  latter  instant- 
ly took  root,  and  has  ever  since  continued  to  grow  and 
flourish.  An  election  immediately  followed.  The  mov- 
er of  this  spirited  resolution,  his  brother  Edward  Rut- 
ledge,  Christopher  Gadsden,  Thomas  Lynch  and  Henry 
Middleto^  were  elected.  Furnished  with  such  ample 
powers,  tney  took  their  seats  in  Congress  under  great 
advantages,  and  by  their  conduct,  justified  the  confid- 
ence reposed  in  them.  John  Rutledge  was  continued 
by  successive  elections  a  member  of  Congress  till  the 
year  1776.  He  returned  to  Charleston  in  the  begin- 
ning of  that  year,  and  was  elected  president  and  com- 
mander in  chief  of  Carolina,  in  conformity  to  a  constitu- 
tion established  by  the  people  on  the  26th  of  March, 
1776.  His  duties  henceforward  were  executive.  He 
employed  himself  diligently  in  arranging  the  new  gov- 
ernment, and  particularly  in  preparing  for  the  defence  of 


150  REPUBLICAN  COAfPILER. 

the  state  against  an  expected  invasion  by  the  British , 
Their  attack  on  Sullivan's  island,  has  been  already  relat- 
ed. On  this  occasion,  John  Kutledge  rendered  his  coun- 
try important  service.  General  Lee,  who  commanded 
the  continental  troops,  pronounced  Sullivan's  island  to 
be  a  "slaughter  pen,"  and  either  gave  orders  or  was  dis- 
posed to  give  orders  for  its  evacuation.  The  zeal  of  the 
state,  and  the  energy  of  its  chief  magistrate,  prevented 
this  measure.  Carolina  had  raised  troops  before  Con- 
gress had  declared  independence.  These  remained  sub- 
ject to  the  authority  of  the  state,  and  were  at  this  early 
period  not  immediately  under  the  command  of  the  offi- 
cers of  Congress.  To  prevent  the  evacuation  of  the  fort 
on  Sullivan's  island,  John  Rutledge,  shortly  before  the 
commencement  of  the  action  on  the  28th  of  June,  1776, 
wrote  the  following  laconic  note  to  general  Moultrie,  who 
commanded  on  the  island.  "General  Lee  wishes  you 
to  evacuate  the  fort.  You  will  not  without  an  order  from 
me.  I  would  sooner  cut  off*  my  hand  than  write  one. 

J.  RUTLEDGE." 

The  successful  issue  of  the  defence  has  been  already 
related.  The  consequences  which  would  probably  have 
followed  from  the  evacuation  of  the  fort,  may  in  some 
measure  be  conjectured  from  the  events  of  1780;  when 
the  British,  grown  wiser,  passed  the  same  fort  without 
engaging  it. 

John  Rutledge  continued  in  the  office  of  president  till 
March,  1778,  when  he  resigned.  The  occasion  and  rea- 
sons of  his  resignation,  are  matters  of  general  history. 
This  did  not  diminish  his  popularity.  Of  this,  the  legis- 
lature gave  the  strongest  proof;  for  the  next  election  he 
was  reinstated  in  the  executive  authority  of  the  state, 
but  under  a  new  constitution,  and  with  the  name  of  gov- 
ernor substituted  in  the  place  of  president.  He  had 
scarcely  entered  on  the  duties  of  this  office,  when  the 
country  was^invaded  by  the  British  general  Prevost. 
The  exertions  made  by  governor  Rutledge  to  repel  this 
vasion — to  defend  Charleston  in  the  years  1779, 
1780 — to  procure  the  aid  of  Congress,  and  of  the  adja- 
cent states — to  drive  back  the  tide  of  British  conquest — 
to  recover  the  state — and  to  revive  its  suspended  legis- 
lative and  judicial  powers,  have  all  been  particularly 
related  in  their  proper  places.  On  the  termination  of 
his  executive  duties  in  1782,  he  was  elected  and  served 


BIOGR  \PIIICAL.  13f 

*e  u  member  of  Congress  till  1783.  In  this  period,  he 
was  called  upon  to  perform  an  extraordinary  duty.  The 
surrender  of  Lord  Cornwallis  in  October,  1781,  seemed 
to  paralyze  the  exertions  of  the  states.  Thinking  the 
war  and  all  danger  to  be  over,  they  no  longer  acted  witli 
suitable  vigor.  Congress,  fearing  that  this  languor  would 
encourage  Great  Britain  to  recommence  the  war,  sent 
deputations  of  their  members  to  rouse  the  states  to  a  sense 
of  their  danger  and  duty.  On  the  22d  of  May,  1782, 
Joan  Kutledge  and  George  Clymer  were  sent  In  this 
character,  and  instructed  "  to  make  such  representation 
to  the  several  states  southward  of  Philadelphia,  as  were 
best  adapted  to  their  respective  circumstances,  and  the 
present  situation  of  public  affairs;  and  as  might  induce 
them  to  carry  the  requisitions  of  Congress  into  effect 
with  the  greatest  despatch."  They  were  permitted  to 
make  a  personal  address  to  the  Virginia  assembly.  In 
the  execution  of  this  duty,  John  Rutledge  drew  such  a 
picture  of  the  United  States,  and  of  the  danger  to  which 
they  were  exposed,  by  the  backwardness  of  the  particu- 
lar states  to  comply  with  the  requisitions  of  Congress,  as 
produced  a  very  happy  effect.  The  addresser  acquitted 
himself  with  so  much  ability,  that  the  Virginians,  who, 
not  without  reason,  are  proud  of  their  statesmen  and  or- 
ators, began  to  doubt  whether  their  Patrick  Henry,  or 
the  Carolina  Rutiedge  was  the  most  accomplished  public 
speaker. 

Soon  after  the  termination  of  Mr.  Rutledjre's  congres- 
sional duties,  he  was  appointed  minister  plenipotentia- 
ry from  the  United  States  to  Holland,  but  declined  to 
serve. 

In  the  year  1784,  he  was  elected  a  judge  of  the  court 
of  chancery  in  South -Carolina.  The  events  of  the  late 
war,  had  greatly  increased  the  necessity  for  such  a  court. 
John  Rutledge  ^draughted  the  bill  for  organizing  it  on  a 
new  plan,  and  in  it  introduced  several  of  the  provisions 
which  have  been  already  mentioned,  as  improvements  on 
the  English  court  of  the  same  name.  Me.  Rutledge 's 
public  duties  hitherto  had  been  either  legislative  or  exec- 
utive They  were  henceforward  judicial.  If  compari- 
sons were  proper,  it  might  be  added  that  he  was  most  at 
home  in  the  latter.  His  knowledge  of  the  law  was  pro- 
found ;  but  the  talent  which  pre-eminently  fitted  him  for 
dispensing  justice,  was  a  comprehensive  mind,  which 
O 


i08  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

could  at  once  take  into  view  all  the  bearings  and  Dela- 
tions of  a  complicated  case.  When  the  facts  were  all 
fairly  before  him,  he  promptly  knew  what  justice  requir- 
ed. The  pleadings  of  lawyers  gratified  their  clients,  but 
rarely  cast  any  light  on  the  subject,  which  had  not  alrea- 
dy presented  itself  to  his  own  view.  Their  declama- 
tions and  addresses  to  the  passions,  were  lost  on  him. 
Truth  and  justice  were  the  pole-stars  by  which  his  de- 
cisions were  regulated,  He  speedily  resolved  the  most 
intricate  cases — pursued  general  principles  through  their 
various  modifications,  till  they  led  to  the  fountain  of  jus- 
tice. His  decrees  were  so  luminous,  and  the  grounds  of 
them  so  clearly  expressed,  that  the  defeated  party  was 
generally  satisfied. 

In  the  year  1787  he  was  called  upon  to  assist  in  fram- 
ing a  national  constitution,  in  lieu  of  the  advisory  sys- 
tem of  the  confederation.  In  arranging  the  provisions  of 
that  bond  of  union,  and  in  persuading  his  countrymen  to 
accept  it,  he  was  eminently  usefuL  As  soan  as  it  was  in 
operation,  he  was  designated  by  president  Washington, 
as  first  associate  judge  of  the  supreme  court  of  the  Unit- 
ed States.  In  this  office,  he  served  till  1791,  when  he 
was  elected  chief  justice  of  South-Carolina.  He  was  af- 
terwards appointed  chief  justice  of  the  United  States. 
Thus,  for  more  than  thirty  years,  with  few  arid  short  in- 
tervals, he  served  his  country  in  one  or  other  of  the  de- 
partments of  government;  and  in  all,  with  fidelity  and 
ability  In  the  friendly  competitions  of  the  states,  for  the 
comparative  merits  of  their  respective  statesmen  and  or- 
ators, while  Massachusetts  boasts  of  her  John  Adams — 
Connecticut  of  her  Ellsworth — New-York  of  her  Jay- 
Pennsylvania  of  her  Wilson — Delaware  of  her  Bayard — 
Virginia  of  her  Henry — South-Carolina  rests  her  claims 
on  the  talents  and  eloquence  of  John  Rutledge.  This 
Illustrious  man,  closed  his  variegated  career  in  the  year 
1800,  Mamsei/s  History  of  South-Carolina, 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  ISO 

Sketch  of  the  lifeofCapi.  Meriwtther  Lewis,  by  Thomas 
Jefferson,  Esq.  iaiz  l're*>idmt  oj'the  United  States. 

MERIWETKER  LEWIS,  late  governor  of  Louisiana,  was 
bora  on  tlie  ei-  ileeiitii  of  Adjust,  1774,  near  the  town  of 
Charlottsviile,  in  the  county  of  Albemaile, -in  Virginia,  of 
one  of  the  distinguished  families  of  that  state.  John 
Lewis,  one  of  his  father's  uncles,  was  a  member  of  the 
king's  council  before  the  revolution.  Another  of  their,. 
Fielding  Lewis,  married  a  sister  of  general  Washington- 
His  father,  William  Lewis,  was  the  youngest  of  five  sons 
of  col.  Rebert  Lewis,  of  Albemarle,  the  fourth  of  whom, 
Charles,  was  one  of  the  early  patriots  who  stepped  for- 
ward in  the  commencement  of  the  revolution,  and  com- 
manded one  of  the  regiments  first  raised  in  Virginia, 
and  placed  on  continental  establishment.  Happily  situ- 
ated at  home,  with  a  wife  and  young  family,  and  a  for- 
tune placing  him  at  ease,  he  left  all  to  aid  in  the  libera- 
tion of  his  country  from  foreign  usurpations,  then  first 
unmasking  their  ultimate  end  and  aim.  His  good  sense, 
integrity,  bravery,  enterprize,  and  remarkable  bodily 
powers,  marked  him  as  an  officer  of  great  promise  ;  but 
fie  unfortunately  died  early  in  the  revolution.  Nicholas 
Lewis,  the  second  of  his  father's  brothers,  commanded  a 
regiment  of  militia,  in  the  successful  expedition  of 177G9 
against  the  Cherokee  Indians ;  who,  seduced  by  the  agents 
of  the  British  goverment,  to  take  up  the  hatchet  against 
us,  had  committed  great  havoc  on  our  southern  frontier, 
by  murdering  and  scalping  helpless  women  and  children, 
according  to  their  cruel  and  cowardly  principles  of  war- 
fare. The  chastisement  they  then  received,  closed  the 
history  of  their  wars,  and  prepared  them  for  receiving  the 
elements  of  civilization,  which,  zealously  inculcated  by 
the  present  government  of  the  United  States,  have  ren- 
dered them  an  industrious,  peaceable  and  happy  people* 
This  member  of  the  family  of  Lewises,  whose  bravery 
V.MS  so  usefully  proved  on  this  occasion,  was  endeared  to 
all  who  knew  him  by  his  inflexible  probity,  courteous  dis- 

-.Uion,  benevolent  heart,  and  engaging  modesty  and 
manners.  He  was  the  umpire  of  all  the  private  differen- 
ces of  his  county — selected  always  by  both  parties.  He 
was  also  the  guardian  of  Merhvether  Lewis,  of  whom  we 
are  now  to  speak,  and  who  had  lost  his  father  at  an  early 
age.  He  continued  for  some  years  under  the 


^0  REPUBLICAN  COMPILED. 

care  of  a  tender  mother,  of  the  respectable  family  of  Mod- 
wethers,  of  the  same  county:  and  was  remarkable,  even 
in   infancy,    for   enterprize,  boldness,   and   discretion. 
When  only  eight  years  of  age,  he  habitually  went  out,  in 
the  dead  of  night,  alone  with  his  dogs,  into  the  forest  to 
hunt  the  raccoon  and  opossum,  which,  seeking  their  food 
in  the  night,   can  then  only  be  taken.     In  this  exercise, 
no  season  or  circumstance  could  obstruct  his  purpose — 
plunging  through  the  winter's  snows  and  frozen  streams, 
in  pursuit  of  his  object.     At  thirteen  he  was  put  to  the 
Latin  school,  and  continued  at  that  till  eighteen,  when  he 
returned  to  his  mother,  and   entered  on  the  cares  of  h  s 
farm;  having,  as  well  as  a  younger  brother,  been  left  by 
his   father  with  a   competency    for  all  the  correct  and 
comfortable  purposes  of  temperate  life.     His  talent  for 
observation,  which  had  led  him  to  an  accurate  knowledge 
of  the  plants  and  animals  of  his  own  country,  would  have 
distinguished  him  as  a  farmer;  but  at  the  a*ge  of  twenty, 
yielding  to  the  ardor  of  youth*  and  a  passion  for  more 
dazzling  pursuits,  he  engaged  as  a  volunteer  in  the  body 
of  militia  which  were  called  out  by  general  Washington, 
on  occasion  of  the  discontents  produced  by  the  excise 
-taxes  in  the  western  parts  of  the  United  States ;  and 
from  that  situation  he  was  removed  to  the  regular  service 
as  a  lieutenant  in  the  line.     At  twenty -three  he  was  pro* 
inoted  to  a  captaincy  ;  and,  always  attracting  the  fist  at- 
tention when  punctuality  and  fidelity  were  requisite,  he 
was  appointed   paymaster  to  his  regiment.     About  this 
time  a  circumstance  occurred  winch,  leading  to  the  trans- 
action which  is  the  subject  of  this  book,  will  justify  a  re- 
currence to  its  original  idea.     While  I  resided  in  Pari^ 
John  Ledyard,of  Connecticut,  arrived  there,  well  known 
in  the  United  States  for  energy  of  body  and  mind.     He 
had  accompanied  captain  Cook,  on  his  voyage  to  the  Pa- 
cific ocean;  and  distinguished  himself  Qp  that  voyage  by 
his  intrepidity.     Being  of  a  roaming  disposition,  he  was 
panting  for  some  new  enterprize.     His  immediate  object 
at  Paris  was  to  engage  a  mercantile  company  in  the  fur- 
t  ade  of  the  western  coast  of  America,  in  which,  however, 
lie  failed.     I  then  proposed  to  him  to  go  by  land  to  Kam?~ 
chatka,  cross  in  some  of  the  Russian  vessels  to  Nootk;», 
Sound,  fall  down   into  the  latitude  of  the  Missouri,  and 
penetrate  to,  and  through,  that    to  the  United  States. 
Ke  eagerly  seized  the  idea,  and  only  asked  to  be  assured 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  irft 

of  the  permission  of  the  Russian  government.  I  inter- 
ested in  obtaining  that  M.  de  Simoulin,  minister  pleni- 
potentiary of  the  empress  at  Paris,  but  more  especially 
the  barori  de  Grimm,  minister  plenipotentiary  of  Saxe- 
Goth  a,  her  more  special  agent  and  correspondent  there 
in  matters  not  immediately  diplomatic.  Her  permission 
was  obtained,  and  an  assurance  of  protection,  while  the 
course  of  the  voyage  should  be  through  her  terri- 
tories. Ledyard  set  out  from  Paris,  and  arrived  at  St. 
Petersburg!!  after  the  empress  had  left  that  place  to  pass 
the  winter,  I  think,  at  Moscow,  His  finances  not  peiv 
niitting  him  to  make  unnecessary  stay  at  St.  Petersburgh, 
he  left  it,  with  a  passport  from  one  of  the  ministers  ;  and 
at  two  hundred  miles  from  Kamschatka  was  obliged  to  take 
up  his  winter  quarters.  He  was  preparing,  in  the  spring, 
to  resume  his  journey,  when  he  was  arrested  by  an  offi- 
cer of  the  empress,  who  by  this  time  had  changed  her 
mind,  and  forbidden  his  proceeding.  He  was  put  into  a 
close  carriage,  and  conveyed  day  and  night,  without 
ever  stopping  till  they  reached  Poland  ;  when  he  was  set 
down  and  left  to  himself.  The  fatigue  of  this  journey 
broke  down  his  constitution;  and  when  he  returned  to 
Paris  his  bodily  health  was  much  impaired.  His  mind, 
however,  remained  firm,  and  he  after  this  undertook  his 
journey  to  Egypt.  I  received  a  letter  from  him  full  of 
sanguine  hopes,  dated  at  Cairo,  the  fifteenth  of  Novem- 
ber, 1788,  the  day  before  he  was  to  set  out  for  the  head^ 
of  the  Nile  ;  on  which  day  however,  he  ended  his  career 
and  life:  and  thus  failed  the  first  attempt  to  explore  the 
western  part  of  our  western  continent. 

In  1792,  I  proposed  to  the  American  Philosophical  So- 
ciety, that  we  should  set  on  foot  a  subscription,  to  engage 
some  competent  person  to  explore  that  region  in  the  op- 
posite direction;  that  is,  by  ascending  the  Missouri, 
'crossing  the  Stony  Mountains,  and  descending  the  near- 
est river  to  the  Pacific.  Captain  Lewis  being  then  sta- 
tioned at  Charlottesville,  on  the  recruiting  service,  warm- 
ly solicited  me  to  procure  for  him  the  execution  of  that 
object.  I  told  him  it  was  proposed  that  the  person  en- 
gaged should  be  attended  by  a  single  companion  only,  to 
avoid  exciting  alarm  among  the  Indians.  This  did  not 
deter  him  ;  but  Mr.  Andrew  Michaux,  a  professed  botan- 
ist, author  of  the  Flora  Boreali  Americana,  and  of  the 
Historic  De$  Chesnes  d'Jlmerume,  offering  his  services, 
o  2* 


163  REPUBLICAN  COM  HI 

they  were  accepted.  He  received  his  instructions,  and 
when  he  had  reached  Kentucky  in  the  prosecution  of  his 
journey,  he  was  overtaken  by  an  order  from  the  minister 
of  France,  then  at  Philadelphia,  to  relinquish  the  expedi- 
tion, and  to  pursue  elsewhere  the  botanical  inquiries  ou 
which  he  was  employed  by  that  government :  and  thus 
failed  the  second  attempt  for  exploring  that  region. 

In  1803,  the  act  for  establishing  trading  houses  with 
the  Indian  tribes  being  about  to  expire,  some  modifica- 
tions of  it  were  recommended  to  congress  by  a  confiden- 
tial message  of  January  18th,  and  an  extension  of  its 
views  to  tne  Indians  on  the  Missouri.  In  order  to  pre- 
pare the  way,  the  message  proposed  the  sending  an  ex- 
ploring party  to  trace  the  Missouri  to  its  source,  to  cross 
the  Highlands,  and  follow  the  best  water  communication 
which  offered  itself  from  thence  to  the  Pacific  ocean. 
Congress  approved  the  proposition,  and  voted  a  sum  ot 
money  for  carrying  it  into  execution.  Captain  Lewis, 
who  had  then  been  near  two  years  with  me  as  private  se< 
"  retary,  immediately  renewed  his  solicitations  to  have  the 
direction  of  the  party.  I  had  now  had  opportunities  of 
knowing  him  intimately.  Of  courage  undaunted  ;  pos- 
sessing a  firmness  and  perseverance  of  purpose,  which 
nothing  but  impossibilities  could  divert  from  its  direc- 
tion ;  careful  as  a  father  of  those  committed  tofih  charge ? 
yet  steady  in  the  maintenance  of  order  and  discipline  ; 
intimate  with  the  Indian  character,  customs,  and  princi 
pies;  habituated  to  the  hunting  life;  guarded,  by  exact 
observation  of  the  vegetables  and  animals  of  his  own- 
country,  against  losing  time  in  the  description  of  object* 
already  possesed  ;  honest,  disinterested,  liberal,  of  sound 
understanding,  and  a  fidelity  to  truth  so  scrupulous,  that 
whatever  he  should  report  would  be  as  certain  as  if  seen 
by  ourselves  ;  with  all  these  qualifications,  as  if  selected 
and  implanted  by  nature  in  one  body  for  this  express  pur- 
pose, I  could  have  no  hesitation  in  confiding  the  enter- 
prize  to  him.  To  fill  up  the  measure  desired,  he  wanted 
nothing  but  a  greater  familiarity  with  the  technical  lan- 
guage of  the  natural  sciences,  and  readiness  in  the  astron- 
omical observations  necessary  for  the  geography  of  his 
route.  To  acquire  these  he  repaired  immediately  to 
Philadelphia,  and  placed  himself  under  the  tutorage  of 
the  distinguished  professors  of  that  place,  who  with  a 
zeal  and  emulation,  enkindled  by  an  ardent  devotion  t>> 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  ;:,'* 

science,  communicated  to  him  freely  the  information  re- 
quisite for  the  purposes  of  his  journey.  AY  bile  attending 
too,  at  Lancaster,  the  fabrication  of  the  arms  with  which 
he  chose  that  his  n;en  should  be  provided,  he  had  the  ben- 
efit of  daily  communication  with  Mr.  Andrew  Ellicot, 
whose  experience  in  astronomical  observations,  and  prac- 
tice of  it  in  the  woods,  enabled  him  to  apprize  Captain 
Lewis  of  the  wants  arid  difficulties  he  would  encounter, 
and  of  the  substitutes  and  resources  offered  by  a  woodland 
and  uninhabited  country. 

Deeming  it  necessary  he  should  have  some  per- 
son with  him  of  known  competence  to  the  direction  of 
the  enterprise,  in  the  event  of  accident  to  himself,  he  pro- 
posed William  Clarke,  brother  of  General  Kogers  Clarke, 
who  was  approved,  and,  with  that  view,  received  a  com- 
mission of  captain. 

In  April,  1803,  a  draught  of  his  instructions  was  sent  to 
captain  Lewis,  and  on  the  twentieth  of  June  they  were 
signed  in  the  following  form.* 

While  these  things  were  going  on  here,  the  country  of 
Louisiana,  lately  ceded  by  £pain  to  France,  had  been  the 
subject  of  neoociation  at  Paris  between  us  and  this  last 
power;  and  had  actually  been  transferred  to  us  by  trea- 
ties executed  at  Paris  on  the  thirteenth  of  April.  This 
information,  received  about  the  first  day  of  July,  increased 
infinitely  the  interest  we  felt  in  the  expeditwn,  and  less- 
ened the  apprehensions  of  interruption  from  other  powers 
Everjr  thing  in  this  quarter  being  now  prepared,  Captain 
Lewis  left  Washington  on  the  fifth  of  July,  1803,  and 
proceeded  to  Pittsburgh,  where  other  articles  had  been 
ordered  to  be  provided  for  him.  The  men  too  were  to  be 
selected  from  the  military  stations  on  the  Ohio.  Delays 
of  preparation,  difficulties  of  navigation  down  the  Ohio, 
and  other  untoward  obstructions,  retarded  his  arrival  at 
Cahokia,  until  the  season  was  so  far  advanced,  as  to  ren- 
der it  prudent  to  suspend  his  entering  the  Missouri  before 
the  ice  should  break  up  in  the  succeeding  spring. 

From  tins  time  his  journal,  now  published,  will  give  the- 
history  of  his  journey  to  and  from  the  Pacific  ocean,  until 
Jiis  return  to  St.  Louis  on  the  twenty -third  of  September, 
J  806.  Never  did  a  similar  event  excite  more  joy  through 
the  United  States.  The  humblest  of  its  citizens  had  ta- 

*  Instructions  omitted. 


164  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

ken  a  lively  interest  in  the  issue  of  this  journey,  and  look- 
ed forward  with  impatience  for  the  information  it  would 
furnish.  Their  anxieties  too  for  the  safety  of  the  corps 
had  been  kept  in  a  state  of  excitement  by  lugubrious  ru- 
mours, circulated  from  time  to  time  on  uncertain  author- 
ities, and  uncontradicted  by  letters,  or  other  direct  in- 
formation, from  the  time  they  had  left  the  Mandan  towns, 
on  their  ascent  up  the  river  in  April  of  the  preceding 
year,  1805,  until  their  actual  return  to  St.  Louis. 

It  was  the  middle  of  February,  1807,  before  captain 
Lewis,  with  his  companion  captain  Clarke,  reached  the 
city  of  Washington,  where  congress  was  then  in  session. 
That  body  granted  to  the  two  chiefs  and  their  followers, 
the  donation  of  lands  which  they  had  been  encouraged  to 
expect  in  reward  of  their  toil  and  dangers.  Captain 
Lewis  was  soon  after  appointed  governor  of  Louisiana, 
and  captain  Clarke  a  general  of  its  militia,  and  agent  of 
the  United  States  for  Indian  affairs  in  that  .department. 

A  considerable  time  intervened  before  the  governor's 
arrival  at  St.  Louis.  He  found  the  territory  distracted 
by  feuds  and  contentions  among  the  officers  of  the  gov- 
ernment, and  the  people  themselves  divided  by  these  in- 
to factions  and  parties.  He  determined  at  once  to  take 
no  side  with  either  ;  but  to  use  every  endeavour  to  conci- 
liate and  harmonize  them.  The  even-handed  justice  he 
administered  to  all  soon  established  a  respect  for  his  per- 
son and  authority;  and  perseverance  and  time  wore 
down  animosities  and  re-united  the  citizens  again  into  one 
family. 

Governor  Lewis  had,  from  early  life,  been  subject  to 
hypochondriac  affections.  It  was  a  constitutional  dispo- 
sition in  all  the  nearer  branches  of  the  family  of  his  name, 
and  was  more  immediately  inherited  by  him  from  his  fa- 
ther. They  had  not,  however,  been  so  strong  as  to  give 
uneasiness  to  his  family.  While  he  lived  with  me  in 
Washington,  I  observed  at  times  sensible  depressions  of 
mind  :  but  knowing  their  constitutional  source,  I  estimat- 
ed their  course  by  what  I  had  seen  in  the  family.  During 
his  western  expedition,  the  constant  exertion  which  that 
required  of  all  the  faculties  of  body  and  mind,  suspended 
these  distressing  affections ;  but  after  his  establishment 
at  St.  Louis  in  sedentary  occupations,  they  returned  up- 
on him  with  redoubled  vigour,  and  began  seriously  to 
alarm  his  friends.  lie  was  in  a  paroxysm  of  one  of  these? 


BIOGRAPHICAL.  IG5 

when  liis  affairs  rendered  it  necessary  for  him  to  go  to 
Washington.  He  proceeded  to  the  Chickasaw  Bluffs, 
-where  he  arrived  on  the  sixteenth  of  September,  U09, 
with  a  view  of  continuing  his  journey  thence  by  water. 
Mr  Neely,  agent  of  the  United  States  with  the*Chicka~ 
saw  Indians,  arriving  there  two  days  after,  found  him  ex- 
tremely indisposed,  and  betra>ing  at  times  some  symp- 
toms of  a  derangement  of  mind.  The  rumours  of  a  war 
with  England,  and  apprehensions  that  he  might  lose  the 
papers  he  was  bringing  on,  among  which  were  the  vouch- 
ers of  his  public  accounts,  and  the  journals  and  papers  of 
his  western  expedition,  induced  him  to  change  his  rnindr 
and  to  take  his  course  by  land  through  the"  Chickasaw 
country.  Although  he  appeared  somewhat  relieved  Mr. 
Neely  kindly  determined  to  accompany  and  watch  over 
him.  Unfortunately  at  their  encampment,  after  having 
passed  the  Tennessee  one  day's  journey,  they  lost  twe 
norses,  which  obliged  Mr.  Neely  to  halt  for  their  recovery, 
the  governor  proceeded,  under  a  promise  to  wait  for  him 
at  the  house  of  the  first  white  inhabitant  on  his  road.  He 
stopped  at  the  house  of  a  Mr.  Grinder,  who,  not  being  at 
home,  his  wife,  alarmed  at  the  symptoms  oi  derangement 
she  discovered,  gave  him  up  the  house  and  retired  to  rest 
herself  in  an  out-house,  the  governor's  and  Neely's  ser- 
vants lodging  in  another.  About  three  o'clock  in  the 
night  he  did  the  deed  which  plunged  his  friends  into  af- 
fliction, and  deprived  his  country  of  one  of  her  most  valu- 
ed citizens,  whose  valour  and  intelligence  wouUl  have 
been  now  employed  in  avenging  the  wrongs  of  his  country, 
and  in  emulating  by  land,  die  splendid  deeds  which  have 
nonoured  her  arms  on  the  ocean.  It  lost  too  to  the  na- 
tion, the  benefit  of  receiving  from  his  own  hands,  the  nar- 
rative now  offered  them,  of  his  sufferings  and  successes, 
in  endeavouring  to  extend  for  them  the  boundaries  of  sci- 
ence, and  to  present  to  their  knowledge  that  vast  and  fer- 
tile country,  which  their  sons  are  distined  to  Jill  with  arts, 
with  science,  with  freedom  and  happiness. 

To  this  melancholy  close  of  the  life  of  one, .whom  pos- 
ierity  will  declare  not  to  have  lived  in  vain,  I  have,  only 
to  add.  that  all  the  facts  I  have  stated  are  either  known 
to  myself,  or  communicated  by  his  family  or  others,  foi 
whose  truth  I  have  no  hesitation  to  make  myself  respon- 
sible, LEWIS  AND  CLAHKE* 


4C6  IH3PUBLTCAN  'COMP1LLK- 

FRANCIS  MARION, 

CORONET,  in  the  regular  service,  and  brigadier  in" the 
militia  of  -s>wtli  Carolina,  was  born  at  his  father's  planta- 
iio.i,  ni  tae  vicinity  of  Georgetown,  in  South  Carolina, 
in  year  I75i>.  His  ancestors  were  Hugunots,  who  fled 
IV  -i  France  to  British  America,  upon  the  revocation  of 
the  edict  of  Nantz. 

They  settled  on  Cooper  river,  near  Charleston,  from 
whence  the  father  of  general  Marion  moved  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Goergetown,  -where  he  resided  during  his 
life,  occupied  in  the  cultivation  of  his  plantation. 

He  had  five  sons,  of  whom  Francis  was  the  youngest; 
who,  with  his  brothers,  received  only  a  common  country 
education.  As  his  three  eldest  sons  arrived  at  the  age 
of  manhood,  they  successively  obtained  a  portion  of  their 
father's  property,  after  which  the  old  gentleman  became 
embarrassed  in  his  affairs,  and  was,  in  consequence,  de- 
prived of  the  means  of  extending  similar  aid  to  his  two 
youngest  sons.  They  had  to  depend  upon  their  own  ex- 
ertions for  support  and  comfort. 

Francis,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  entered  on  board  a  ves- 
sel bound  to  the  West  Indies,  with  a  determination  to  fit 
himself  for  a  seafaring  life.  On  his  outward  passage,  the 
vessel  was  suddenly  upset  in  a  gale  of  wind,  when  the 
crew  took  to  their  boat,  without  water  or  provisions,  it 
being  impracticable  to  save  any  of  either.  A  dog  jump- 
ed into  the  boat  with  the  crew,  and  upon  his  flesh,  eaten 
raw,  did  the  survivors  of  these  unfortunate  men  subsist 
for  seven  or  eight  days;  in  which  period,  several  died  of 
hunger. 

Amongj  the  few  who  escaped,  was  young  Marion.  Af- 
ter reaching  land,  Marion  relinquished  his  original  plan 
of  life,  and  engaged  in  the  labours  of  agriculture.  In 
this  occupation^  he  continued  until  1759,  when  he  be- 
came a  soldier,  and  was  appointed  a  lieutenant  in  a  com- 
pany of  volunteers,  raised  for  an  expedition  against  the 
Cherokee  Indians,  commanded  by  captain  William  Moul- 
trie,  (since  general  Moultrie.)  This  expedition  was  con- 
ducted by  governor  Lyttleton  :  it  was  followed  in  a  year 
or  two  afterwards,  by  another  invasion  of  the  Cherokee 
country  by  colonel  Grant,  who  served  as  major  general 
in  our  war,  under  Sir  William  Howe, 


BIOGRAPHICAL* 

111  this  last  expedition,  lieutenant  Marion  also  served; 
having  been  promoted  to  the  rank  of  captain. 

As  soon  as  the  war  broke  out  between  the  colonies  and 
mother  country,  Marion  was  called  to  the  command  of  as 
company  in  the  first  corps  raised  by  the  state  of  South 
Carolina.  He  was  soon  after  promoted  to  a  majority, 
and  served  in  that  rank  under  colonel  Moultrie,  in  his 
intrepid  defence  of  fort  Moultrie  against  the  combined 
attack  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton  and  Sir  H.  Parker,  on  ther 
£nd  of  June,  .770.  He  was  afterwards  placed  at  the 
head  of  a  regiment  as  lieutenant  colonel  commandant; 
in  which  capacity  he  served  i.uring  the  siege  oi  Charles- 
ton; when,  having  fractured  his  leg  by  some  accident, 
he  became  incapable  of  military  duty,  and  fortunately 
for  his  country,  escaped  the  captivity  to  which  the  garri- 
son was,  in  the  sequel,  forced  to  submit. 

When  Charleston  fell  into  the  enemy's  hands,  lieu- 
tenant colonel  Marion  abandoned  his  state,  and  took 
shelter  in  North  Carolina.  The  moment  he  recovered 
from  the  fracture  of  his  leg,  he  engaged  in  preparing  the 
means  of  annoying  the  enemy,  then  in  the  flood -tide  of 
prosperity.  With  sixteen  men  only,  he  crossed  the  San- 
tee,  and  commenced  that  daring  system  df  warfare  which 
has  been  related  in  the  course  of  the  preceding  me- 
moirs. 

General  Marion  was  in  stature  of  the  smallest  size, 
thin,  as  well  as  low.  His  visage  was  not  pleasing,  and 
his  manners  not  captivating.  He  was  reserved  and  si- 
lent, entering  into  conversation  only  when  necessary, 
and  then  with  modesty  and  good  sense. 

He  possessed  a  stropg  mind,  improved  by  its  own  re- 
flections and  observations,  not  by  books  or  "travel.  His 
dress  was  like  his  address — plain,  regarding  comfort  and 
decency  ouiy  In  his  meals,  he  was  abstemious,  eating 
generally  of  one  dish,  and  drinking  water  mostly. 

He  was  sedulous  and  constant  in  his  attention  to  the 
duties  of  his  station,  to  which  every  other  consideration 
yielded.  Even  the  charms  of  the  fair,  like  the  luxuries 
of  the  table,  and  the  allurements  of  wealth,  seemed  to  be 
lost  upon  him. 

The  procurement  of  subsistence  for  his  men,  and  the 
continuance  of  annoyance  to  his  enemy,  engrossed  his 
entire  mind.  He  was  virtuous  all  over;  never,  even  iu 
manner,  much  less  in  reality,  did  he  trench  upon  right. 


iGa  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Beloved  by  his  friends,  and  respected  by  his  enemies, 
he  exhibited  a  luminous  example  of  the  beneficial  effects 
to  be  produced  by  an  individual,  who,  with  only  small 
means  at  his  command,  possesses  a  virtuous  heart,  a 
strong  head,  and  a  mind  devoted  to  the  common  good. 
After  the  war,  the  general  married,  but  had  no  issue.  He 
died  in  February,  1795,  leaving  behind  him  an  indisput- 
able title  to  the  first  rank  among  the  patriots  and  soldiers 
of  our  revolution. 

Lee9 8  Memoirs  of  the  Southern 


EPISTOLARY. 


£ten.  Washington's  Letter,  on  his  accepting  the  command 
of  the  American  army,in  1798. 

Mount  Vcrnon,  Ja!y  13,  1703. 

DEAR  SIR, 

I  had  the  honour,  on  the  evening  of  the  1 1th  instant, 
to  receive  from  the  hand  of  the  secretary  of  war,  your 
favour  of  the  7th,  announcing  that  you  had,  with  the  ad- 
vice and  consent  of  the  senate,  appointed  me  "  Lieuten- 
ant general  and  commander  in  chief  of  all  the  armies 
raised,  or  to  be  raised,  for  the  service  of  the  United 
States." 

I  cannot  express  how  greatly  affected  I  am  at  this  new 
proof  of  public  confidence,  pad  the  highly  flattering  man- 
ner in  wnich  you  have  been  pleased  to  make  the  commu- 
"nieation;  at  the  same  time,  I  must  not  conceal  from  you 
rny  earnest  wish,  that  the  choice  had  fallen  upon  a  man, 
less  declined  in  years,  and  better  qualified  to  encounter 
the  usual  vicissitudes  of  war. 

You  know, Sir,  what  calculation  I  bad  made  relative  to 
fhe  probable  course  of  events,  on  my  retiring  from  office, 
and  the  determination  I  had  consoled  my  self  with,  of 
closing  the  remnant  of  my  days  in  my  present  peaceful 
abode ;  you  will,  therefore,  be  at  no  loss  to  conceive  anil 
Appreciate  the  sensations  I  must  have  experienced,  to 


?™  UEPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

bring  my  mind  to  any  conclusion,  that  would  pledge  me, 
at  so  late  a.  period  of  life,  to  leave  scenes  I  sincerely  love, 
to  enter  upon  the  boundless  field  of  public  action,  inces- 
sant trouble,  and  high  responsibility. 

It  was  not  possible  for  me  to  remain  ignorant  of,  or  in- 
different to,  recent  transactions. 

The  conduct  of  the  directory  of  France  towards  our 
country  5  their  insidious  hostility  to  its  government ; 
their  various  practices  to  withdraw  the  affections  of  the 
people  from  it ;  the  evident  tendency  of  their  acts,  and 
those  of  their  agents,  to  countenance  and  invigorate  op- 
position ;  their  disregard  of  solemn  treaties  and  the  laws 
of  nations  ;  their  war  upon  our  defenceless  commerce  ; 
their  treatment  of  our  ministers  of -peace ;  and  their  de- 
mands amounting  to  tribute  ;  could  not  fail  to  excite  in 
me  corresponding  sentiments,  with  those  my  countrymen 
have  so  generally  expressed  in  their  affectionate  addresses 
to  you.  Believe  me,  Sir,  no  one  can  more  cordially  ap- 
prove of  the  wise  and  prudent  measures  of  your  admin- 
istration. They  ought  to  inspire  universal  confidence, 
and  will,  uo  doubt,  combined  with  the  state  of  things,  call 
from  congress  such  laws  and  means  as  will  enable  you  to 
meet  the~fu.ll  force  and  extent  of  the  crisis. 

Satisfied,  there  fore,  that  you  have  sincerely  wished  and 
endeavoured  to  avert  war,  and  exhausted,  to  the  last 
drop,  the  cup  of  reconciliation,  we  can,  with  pure  hearts, 
appeal  to  heaven  for  the  justice  of  our  cause;  and  may 
confidently  trust  the  final  result  to  that  kind  Providence, 
who  has  heretofore,  and  so  often,  signally  favoured  the 
people  of  the  United  States. 

Thinking  in  this  manner,  and  feeling  how  incumbent 
it  is  upon  every  person,  of  every  description,  to  contribute 
at  all  times  to  his  country's  welfare,  especially  in  a  mo- 
ment like  the  present,  when  every  thing  we  hold  dear  and 
sacred  is  so  seriously  threatened ;  1  have  finally  deter- 
mined to  accept  the  commission  of  commander  in 
chief  of  the  armies  of  the  United  States  ;  with  this  .re- 
serve only,  that  I  shall  not  be  called  into  the  field  until 
the  army  is  in  a  situation  to  require  my  presence,  or  it 
becomes  indispensable  by  the  urgency  of  circumstances. 

In  making  this  reservation,  I  beg  it  maybe  understood 

that  I  do  not  mean  to  withhold  any  assistance  to  arrange 

and  organize  the  army,  which  you  think  I  can  afford.     I 

'.  fake  the  liberty  also  to  mention,  that  I  must  decline  hav- 


EPISTOLARY.  <~* 

ing  my  acceptance  considered  as  drawing  after  it  any 
immediate  charge  upon  the  public;  or  that  I  can  receive 
any  emoluments  annexed  to  the  appointment,  before 
entering  into  a  situation  to  incur  expense. 

The  secretary  of  war  being  anxious  to  return  to  the 
6eat  of  government,  I  have  detainee:  him  no  longer  than 
was  necessary  to  a  full  communication  upon  the  several 
points  he  had'in  charge. 

With  very  great  respect  and  consideration,  I  have  die 
honour  to  be,  dear  sir,  your  most  obedient,  humble  ser- 
vant. 

G.  WASHINGTON. 

JOHN  ADAMS, 

President  of  the  United  States. 


Richmond,  October  1C. 

,  thy  d.ear  S— ,  on  an  excursion  through 
the  counties  which  lie  along  the  eastern  side- of  in?  ~Ch;a 
Ridge.  A  general  description  of  the  country  and  its  in- 
habitants  may  form  the  subject  of  a  future  letter.  For 
the  present  "l  must  entertain  you  with  an  account  of  a 
most  singular  and  interesting  adventure  which  I  met  with^ 
in  the  course  of  the  tour. 

It  was  one  Sunday,  as  I  travelled  through  the  county 
of  Orange,  that  my  eyes  were  caught  by  a  cluster  of  hor- 
ses tied  near  a  ruinous,  old,, wooden  house,  in  the  forest, 
not  far  from  the  road  side.  Having  frequently  seen 
such  objects  before,  in  travelling  through  these  states,  I 
had  no  difficulty  in  understanding  that  this  was  a  place 
of  religious  worship. 

Devotion  alone  should  have  stopped  me,  to  join  in  the 
duties  of  the  congregation;  but  I  must  confess,  that  cu- 
riosity, to  hear  the  preacher  of  such  a  wilderness,  was  not 
the  least  of  my  motives.  On  entering,  I  was  struck  with 
his  preternatural  appearance.  He  was  a  tall  and  very 
spare  old  man ;  his  head,  which  wa?  covered  with  a  white 
linen  cap,  his  shrivelled  hands,  and  his  voice,  were  ail 
shaking  under  the  influence  of  a  palsy  ;  and  a  few  mo- 
ments ascertained  to  me  that  he  was  perfectly  blind, 


1*3  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

The  first  emotions  which  touched  my  heart,  were  those 
of  mingled  pity  and  veneration.  But  ah  !  sacred  God  ! 
kow  soon  were  all  my  feelings  changed  !  The  lips  of 
VL  to  were  never  more  worthy  of  a  prognostic  swarm  of 
bees,  than  were  the  lips  of  this  holy  man  !  It  was  a  day 
ef  the  administration  of  the  sacrament;  and  his  subject, 
of  course,  v/as  the  passion  of  our  Saviour.  I  had  heard 
the  subject  handled  a  thousand  times  :  I  had  thought  it 
exhausted  long  ago.  Little  did  I  suppose,  that  in  the  wild 
woods  of  America,  I  was  to  meet  with  a  man,  whose  el- 
oquence would  give  to  that  topic,  a  new  and  more  sub- 
lime pathos  than  1  had  ever  witnessed. 

As  he  descended  from  the  pulpit  to  distribute  the  mys- 
ilc  symbols,  there  was  a  peculiar,  a  more  than,  human 
rolemnity  in  his  air  and  manner,  which  made  my  blood 
run  cold,  and  my  whole  frame  shiver. 

He  then  drew  a  picture  of  the  sufferings  of  our  Saviour; 
hi 3  trial  before  Pilate  ;  his  ascent  up  Calvary;  his  cru- 
cifixion and  his  death.  I  knew  the  whole  history;  but 
never,  until  then,  had  I  heard  the  circumstances  so  se- 
lected, so  arranged,  so  coloured  1  It  was  all  new ;  and  I 
seamed  to  have  heard  it  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.— 
His  enunciation  was  so  deliberate,  that  his  voice  trem- 
bled on  every  syllable  ;  and  every  heart  in  the  assembly 
trembled  in  unison.  His  peculiar  phrases  had  that  force 
of  description,  that  the  original  sense  appeared  to  be,  at 
that  moment,  acting  before  our  eyes.  We  saw  the  very 
faces  of  the  Jews :  the  staring,  frightful  distortions  of 
malice  and  rage  We  saw  the  buffet:  my  soul  kindled 
with  a  flame  of  indignation  ;  and  my  hands  were  invol- 
untarily and  convulsively  clenched. 

But  when  lie  came  to  touch  on  the  patience,  the  for- 
giving meekness  of  our  Saviour  ;  when  he  drew,  to  the 
HO,  his  blessed  eyes  streaming  in  tears  to  heaven  ;  his 
voice  breathing  to  God,  a  soft  and  gentle  prayer  of  par- 
don on  his  enemies,  "  Father  forgive  them,  for  they  know 
not  what  they  do."  The  voice  of  the  preacher  which  had 
all  along  faltered,  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  until  his  ut- 
terance, being  entirely  obstructed  by  the  force  of  his 
feelings,  he  raised  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  and  burst 
into  a  loud  and  irrepressible  flood  of  grief.  The  effect  is 
inconceivable.  The  whole  house  resounded  with  the 
mingled  groan?,  and  sobs,  and  shrieks  of  the  congrega- 
tion. 


EPISTOLARY.  273 

It  was  some  time  before  the  tumult  had  subsided  so  far 
as  to  permit  him  to  proceed.  Indeed,  judging  by  the  usu- 
al, but  fallacious  standard  of  my  own  weakness,  I  began 
to  be  very  uneasy  for  the  situation  of  the  preacher  ;  for 
I  could  not  conceive,  how  he  would  be  able  to  let  his  au- 
dience down  from  the  height  to  which  he  had  wound  ther.i, 
without  impairing  the  solemnity  and  dignity  of  his  sub- 
ject, or  perhaps  shocking  them  by  the  abruptness  of  the 
fall.  But — no :  the  descent  was  as  beautiful  and  sublime 
as  the  elevation  had  been  rapid  and  enthusiastic. 

The  first  sentence  with  which  he  broke  the  awful  si- 
lence, was  a  quotation  from  Rousseau  :  "  Socrates  died 
like  a  philosopher,  but  Jesus  Christ  like  a  God  !" 

I  despair  of  giving  you  any  idea  of  the  effect  produced 
by  this  short  sentence, unless  you  could  perfectly  conceive 
the  whole  manner  of  the  man  as  well  as  the  peculiar  crisis 
in  the  discourse.  Never  before,  did  I  completely  under- 
stand what  Demosthenes  meant  by  laying  such  stiess  on 
delivery'  You  are  to  bring  before  you  the  venerable 
figure  of  the  preacher;  his  blindness,  constantly  recal- 
ling to  your  recollection  old  Homer,  Ossian,  ami  Milton, 
and  associating  with  his  performance  the  melancholy 
grandeur  of  their  geniuses  ;  you  are  to  imagine,  that  you 
near  his  slow,  solemn,  well  accented  enunciation,  and^his 
voice  of  affecting,  trembling  melod  v  ;  you  are  to  remem- 
ber the  pitch  of  passion  and  enthusiasm  to  which  the  con- 
gregation were  raised;  and  then  the  fe^  minutes  of  por- 
tentous, death-like  silence,  which  reigned  throughout  the 
house :  the  preacher  removing  his  white  handkerchief 
from  his  a^red  face,  (even  yet  wet  from  tKe  recent  torrent 
of  his  tears)  and  slowly  stretching  forth  the  palsied  hand 
which  held  it,  begins  the  sentence,  «  Socrates  died  like  a 
philosopher" — then  pausing,  raising  Ins  other  hand,  pres- 
sing them  both,  clasped  together,  with  warmth  and  ener- 
gy to  his  breast,  lifting  his  «  sightless  balls"  to  heaven, 
and  pouringhis  whole  soul  into  his  tremulous  voice — "but 
Jesus  Christ — like  a  God!"  If  he  had  been  indeed  and 
in  truth  an  angel  of  light,  the  effect  could  scarcely  have 
been  more  divine. 

Whatever  I  had  been  able  to  conceive  of  the  sublimity 
of  MassiUon,  or  the  force  of  Bourdaloue,  had  fallen  far 
short  of  the  power  which  I  felt  from  the  delivery  of  this 
simple  sentence.  The  blood,  which  just  before  liad  rush- 
ed in  a  hurricane  upon  my  brain,  and,  in  the  violence  and 
p  2 


m  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

agony  of  my  feelings,  had  held  my  whole  system  in  sts 
pense,  now   ran  back  into  my  heart,  with"  a   sensation 
which  I  cannot  describe:  a  kind  of  shuddering,  delicious 
horror  !     The  paroxysm  of  blended  pity  and  indignation, 
to  which  I  had  been  transported,  subsided  into  the  deep 
eat  self-abasement,  humility  and  adoration.     1  had  nisi; 
been  lacerated  and   dissolved  by   sympathy,  for  our  Sa 
viour  as  a  fellow-creature  ;  but  now,  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling, I  adored  him  as  "  a  God." 

If  this  description  give  you  the  impression,  that  tins 
Incomparable  minister  had  any  thing  of  shallow,  theatri- 
cal trick  in  his  manner,  it  does  him  great  injustice.  I 
have  never  seen,  in  any  other  orator,  such  an  union  ot 
simplicity  and  majesty.  He  has  not  a  gesture,  an  atti- 
tude, or  an  accent,  to  which  he  does  not  seem  forced  by 
the  sentiment  which  he  is  expressing.  His  mind  is 
too  serious,  too  earnest,  too  solicitous,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  too  dignified  to  stoop  to  artifice.  Although  as  far 
removed  from  ostentation  as  a  man  can  be,  yet  it  is  clear 
from  the  train,  the  style  and  substance  of  his  thoughts, 
that  he  is,  not  only  a  very  polite  scholar,  but  a  man  of 
extensive  and  pro  found  erudition.  I  was  forcibly  struck 
with  a  short,  yet  beautiful  character,  which  he  drew  of 
our  learned  and  amiable  countryman.  Sir  Robert  Boyle: 
he  spoke  of  him  as  if  "  his  noble  mind  had,  even  before 
death,  divested  herself  of  all  influence  from  his  frail  ta- 
bernacle of  flesh,"  and  called  him,  in  his  peculiarly  em- 
phatic and  impressive  manner,  "a  pure  intelligence: 
the  link  between  men  and  angels. " 

This  man  has,  been  before  my  imagination  almost  ever 
since.  A  thousand  times,  as  I  rode  along,  I  dropped  the 
reins  of  my  bridle,  stretched  forth  my  hand,  and  tried  to 
imitate  his  quotation  from  Rousseau  :  a  thousand  times  I 
abandoned  the  attempt  in  despair,  and  felt  persuaded  that 
his  peculiar  manner  and  power  arose  from  an  energy  of 
soul,  which  nature  could  give,  but  which  no  human  being 
could  justly  copy.  In  short,  he  seems  to  be  altogether  a 
being  of  a  former  age,  or  of  a  totally  different  nature  from 
the  rest  of  men.  As  I  recall,  at  this  moment,  several  of 
his  awfully  striking  attitudes,  the  chilling  tide,  with 
%'/hich  my  blood  begins  to  pour  along  my  arteries,  reminds 
tne  of  the  emotions  produced  by  the  iirst  sight  of  Gray's 
introductory  picture  of  his  bard* 


EPISTOLARY.  1*5 

•'  On  a  rock,  whose  haughty  brow, 
.*»'  Frowns  o'er  old  Conwui's  foaming  flood^ 
•'  Robed  in  the  sable  garb  of  woe, 
"  With  haggard  eyes  the  poet  stood  : 
**  (Loose  his  heard  and  hoary  hair 
"  Streamed  like  a  meteor  to  the  troubled  air  :} 
"  And  with  a  poet's  hand  and  prophet's  fire, 
"  Struck  the  deep  sorrows  of  his  lyre." 

Guess  my  surprize,  when,  on  my  arrival  at  Richmond, 
and  mentioning  the  name  of  this  man,  I  found  not  one 
person  who  had  ever  before  heard  of  James  Waddell !  Is 
it  not  strange,  that  such  a  genius  as  this,  so  accomplished 
a  scholar,  so  divine  an  orator,  should  be  permitted  to  lan- 
guish and  die  in  obscurity,  within  eighty  miles  of  the  me- 
tropolis of  Virginia  ?  To  me  it  is  a  conclusive  argument* 
either  that  the  Virginians  have  no  taste  for  the  higher 
strains  of  the  most  sublime  oratory,  or  that  they  are  des- 
titute of  a  much  more  important  quality,  the  love  of  gen- 
uine and  exalted  religion.  British  Spy, 


Richmond,  December  10* 

IN  one  of  my  late  rides  into  the  surrounding  country,  I 
stopped  at  a  little  inn,  to  refresh  myself  and  my  horse  : 
sind,  as  the  landlord  was  neither  a  Boniface,  nor"  mine 
host  of  the  garter,"  I  called  for  a  book,  by  way  of  killing 
time,  while  the  preparations  for  my  repast  were  going 
forward.  He  brought  me  a  shattered  fragment  of  the  se- 
cond volume  of  the  Spectator,  which  he  told  me  was  the 
only  book  in  the  house,  for  "  he  never  troubled  his  head 
about  freadino;,"  and  byway  of  conclusive  proof,  he  fur- 
ther informed  me,  that  this  fragment,  the  only  book  in  the 
house,  had  been  sleeping  unmolested  in  the  dust  of  his 
roantlepiece,  for  ten  or  fifteen  years.  I  could  not  meet 
yny  venerable  countryman,  in  a  foreign  land,  and  in  this 
humiliating  plight,  nor  hear  of  the  inhuman  and  gothic 
contempt  with  which  he  had  been  treated,  without  the 
liveliest  emotion.  So,  1  read  my  host  a  lecture  on  the 
subject,  to  which  he  appeared  to  pay  as  little  attention,  as 
be  had  before  done  to  the  Spectator,  and  with  the  sang 
froid  ot  a  Dutchman,  answered  me  in  the  cant  of  the 
country,  that  *«  he  had  other  fish  to  fry,"  and  left  me, 


i~6~  REPUBLICAN  COMPILE*. 

It  had  been  so  long  since  I  had  had  an  opportunity  of 
opening  that  agreeable  collection,  that  the  few  numbers, 
which  were  now  before  me,  appeared  almost  entirely 
new  5  and  I  cannot  describe  to  you,  the  avidity  and  de- 
light with  which  I  devoured  those  beautiful  and  interest- 
ing speculations. 

Is  it  not  strange,  my  dear  S ,  that  such  a  work 

should  ever  have  lost  an  inch  of  ground?  A  style  so  sweet 
and  simple,  and  yet  so  ornamented!  a  temper  so  bene- 
volent, so  cheerful,  so  exhilarating!  a  body  of  knowledge, 
and  of  originalthought.  so  immense  and  various !  so  strik- 
ingly just,  so  universally  useful  I  What  person,  of  any 
age,  sex,  temper,  calling,  or  pursuit,  can  possibly  con- 
verse with  the  Spectator,  without  being  conscious  of  im- 
mediate improvement  ? 

To  the  spleen,  he  is  as  perpetual,  and  never-failing  an 
antidote, as  he  is  to  ignorance  and  immorality.  No  matter 
for  the  disposition  of  mind  in  which  you  take  him  up; 
you  catch,  as  you  go  along,  the  happy  tone  of  spirits  which 
prevails  throughout  the  work ;  you  smile  at  the  wit, 
laugh  at  the  drollery,  feel  your  mind  enlightened,  your 
heart  opened,  softened,  and  refined  ;  and  when  you  lay 
him  down,  you  are  sure  to  be  in  a  better  humour,  both 
with  yourself  and  every  body  else.  I  have  never  men- 
tioned the  subject  to  a  reader  of  the  Spectator,  who  did 
tiot  admit  this  to  be  the  invariable  process  ;  and  in  such 
a  world  of  misfortunes,  of  cares,  and  sorrows,  and  guilt, 
as  this  is,  what  a  prize  would  this  collection  be,  if  it 
\vere  rightly  estimated  ! 

Were  I  the  sovereign  of  a  nation,  which  spoke  the  En- 
glish language,  and  wished  my  subjects  cheerful,  virtu- 
ous and  enlightened,  I  would  furnish  every  poor  family 
in  my  dominions  (and  see  that  the  rich  furnished  them- 
selves) with  a  copy  of  the  Spectator  ;  and  ordain  that  the 
parents  or  children  should  read  four  or  five  numbers,  aloud, 
every  night  in  the  year.  For  one  of  the  peculiar  perfec- 
tions of  the  work  is,  that  while  it  contains  such  a  mass  of 
ancient  and  modern  learning,  so  much  of  profound  wis- 
dom and  of  beautiful  composition,  yet  there  is  scarcely  a 
number  throughout  the  eight  volumes,  which  is  not  level 
to  the  meanest  capacity.  Another  perfection  is,  that  the 
Spectator  will  never  become  tiresome  to  any  one  whose 
taste  and  whose  heart  remain  uncormptcd. 


EPISTOLARY  irr 

1  do  net  mean  that  this  author  should  be  read  to  the 
exclusion  of  others;  much  less  that  he  should  stand  in 
•he  way  of  the  generous  pursuit  of  science,  or  interrupt 
the  discharge  of  social  or  private  duties.  All  the  coun- 
sels of  the  work  itself  have  a  directly  reverse  tendency* 
It  furnishes  a  store  of  the  clearest  arguments,  and  of  the 
most  amiable  and  captivating  exhortations,  "  to  raise  the 
genius  and  to  mend  the  heart."  1  regret  only,  that  such 
a  book  sjiould  be  thrown  by,  and  almost  entirely  forgot- 
ten, while  the  gilded  blasphemies  of  infidels,  and  "  the 
noontide  trances"  of  pernicious  theorists,  are  nailed  with 
rapture,  and  echoed  around  the  world.  For  such,  I 
should  be  pleased  to  see  the  Spectator  universally  substi- 
tuted ;  and,  throwing  out  of  the  question  its  morality,  its 
literary  information,  its  sweetly  contagious  serenity,  and 
the  pure  and  chaste  beauties  of  its  style ;  and  consider- 
ing it  merely  as  a  curiosity,  as  concentrating  the  brilliant 
vSports  of  the  finest  cluster  of  geniuses,  that  ever  graced 
the  earth,  it  surely  deserves  perpetual  attertion,  respect 
and  consecration,  British  Spy. 


ON  EARLY  MARRIAGES. 

Letter  from  Dr.  Franklin,  to  John  JUleyne  esq. 

DEAR  JACK, 

You  desire,  you  say,  my  impartial  thoughts  on  the 
subject  of  an  early  marriage,  by  way  of  answer  to  the 
numberless  objections  that  have  been 'made  by  numerous 
persons  to  your  own.  You  may  remember,  when  you 
consulted  me  on  the  occassion,  that  I  thought  youth'  on 
both  sides  to  be  no  objection.  Indeed,  from  the  mar- 
riages that  have  fallen  under  my  observation,  I  am  rather 
inclined  to  think  that  early  ones  stand  the  best  chance  of 
affording  happiness.  The' temper  and  habits  of  the  young 
are  not  yet  become  so  stiff  and  uncomplying,  as  when 
more  advanced  in  life ;  they  form  more  easily  to  each 
other,  and  hence  many  occasions  of  disgust  are  removed. 
Arid  if  youth  has  less  of  that  prudence  which  is  necessary 
to  manage  a  family,  yet  the  parents  and  elder  friends  of 
young  married  persons  are  generally  at  band  to  offer  their 


irs  REPUBLICAN  COMPILE. 

advice,  which  amply  supplies  that  defect ;  and  by  early 
marriage,  youth  is  sooner  formed  to  regular  anci  useful 
life  ;  and  possibly  some  of  those  accidents  or  connections, 
that  might  have  injured  the  constitution,  or  reputation, 
or  both,  are  thereby  happily  prevented.  Particular  cir- 
cumstances of  particular  persons,  may  possibly  some- 
times make  it  prudent  to  delay  entering  into  that  state ; 
but  in  general,  when  nature  has  rendered  our  bodies  fit 
for  it,  this  presumption  is  in  nature's  favour,  that  she  has 
not  judged  amiss  in  making  us  desire  it.  Late  marriages 
are  often  attended,  too,  with  this  further  inconvenience, 
that  there  is  not  the  same  chance  that  the  parents  shall 
live  to  see  their  offspring  educated.  "  Late  children,'* 
says  the  Spanish  proverb,  "are  early  orphans."  A 
melancholy  reflection  to  those  whose  case  it  may  be  ! 
With  us  in  America,  marriages  are  generally  entered 
into  in  the  morning  of  life;  our  children  are  therefore 
educated  and  settled  in  the  world  by  noon ;  and  thus,  our 
business  being  done,  we  have  an  afternoon  and  evening 
of  leisure  to  ourselves,  such  as  our  friend  at  present  en* 
joys.  By  those  early  marriages  we  are  blessed  with. 
more  children  ;  and  from  the  mode  among  us,  founded 
by  nature,  of  every  mother  suckling  and  nursing  her  own 
child,  more  of  them  are  raised.  Thence  the  swift  pro- 
gress of  population  among  us  nnparallelled  in  Europe.  In 
fine,  I  am  glad  you  are  married,  and  congratulate  you 
most  cordially  upon  it.  You  are  now  in  the  way  of  be- 
coming a  useful  citizen :  and  you  have  escaped  the  un- 
natural state  of  celibacy  for  Hie — the  fate  of  many  here 
who  never  intended  it,  but  who  having  too  long  postponed 
tiio  change  of  their  condition,  find  at  length,  that  it  is  toe 
late  to  think  of  it,  and  so  live  all  their  lives  in  a  situation 
that  greatly  lessens  a  man's  value.  An  odd  volume  of 
a  set  of  books  bears  not  the  value  of  its  proportion  to  the 
set :  what  think  you  of  the  odd  half  of  a  pair  of  scissors  ? 
it  cannot  well  cut  any  thing;  it  may  probably  serve  to 
scrape  a  trencher.  Fray,  make  my  compliments  and  best 
wishes  acceptable  to  your  bride.  "  1  am  old  and  heavy, 
or  I  ghould  ere  this  have  presented  them  in  person,  I 
shall  make  but  small  use  of  the  old  man's  privilege,  that 
of  giving  advice  to  younger  friends.  Treat  your  wife 
always  with  respect ;  it  will  procure  respect  to  you,  not 
only  from  her,  but  from  all  who  observe  it.  Never  use 
a  slighting  expression  to  her,  even  in  jest)  for  slights  in 


EPISTOLARY. 


jest,  after  frequent  bandy  ings,  are  apt  to  end  in  anger  and 
earnest.  Be  studious  in  your  profession,  and  you  will  be 
learned.  Be  industrious  and  frugal,  and  you  will  be 
rich.  Be  sober  and  temperate,  and  you  will  be  healthy, 
Be  in  general  virtuous,  and  you  will  be  happy.  At  least 
you  will  by  such  conduct,  stand  the  best  chance  for  such 
consequences.  I  pray  God  to  bless  you  both,  being  ever 
your  affectionate  friend.  Life  of  Franklin. 


From,  the  same,  to  the  late  Z>r.  Mather,  of  Boston. 


SIR, 

I  received  your  kind  letter,  with  your  excellent 
advice  to  the  United  States,  which  I  read  with  great: 
pleasure,  and  hope  it  will  be  duly  regarded.  Such  writ 
ings,  although  they  may  be  lightly  passed  over  by  many 
readers,  yet  if  they  make  a  deep  impression  on  one  active 
mind  in  a  hundred,  the  effects  may  be  considerable. 
Permit  me  to  mention  one  little  instance,  which,  though 
it  relates  to  myself,  will  not  be  quite  uninteresting  to  you. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  I  met  with  a  book  entitled,  "  Kssays 
to  do  good,"  which  1  think  was  written  by  your  father  a 
It  had  been  so  little  regarded  by  a  former  possessor,  that 
several  leaves  of  it  were  torn  out  ;  but  the  remainder  led 
me  into  such  a  train  of  thinking,  as  to  have  an  influence 
on  my  conduct  through  life  :  for  1  have  always  set  a 
greater  value  on  the  character  of  a  doer  of  good,  than 
any  other  kind  of  reputation  ;  and  if!  have  been,  as  you 
seem  to  think,  a  useful  citizen,  the  public  owes  the  advan- 
tage of  it  to  that  book. 

You  mention  your  being  in  your  seventy-eighth  year, 
I  am  in  my  seventy  -ninth.  We  are  grown  old  together. 
It  is  now  more  than  sixty  years  since  1  left  Boston  ;  but  I. 
remember  well  both  your  father  and  grand-father,  having 
heard  them  both  in  the  pulpit,  and  seen  them  in  their 
houses.  The  last  time  I  saw  your  father  was  in  the  be- 
ginning of  1724,  when  I  visited  him  after  my  first  trip  to 
Pennsylvania  :  he  received  me  in  his  library  ;  and  on  my 
taking  leave,  shewed  me  a  shorter  way  out  of  the  house, 
through  a  narrow  passage,  which  was"  crossed  by  a  beam 
overhead.  We  were  still  talking  as  I  withdrew,  he  ac  - 


ISO  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

companying  tne  behind,  and  I  turning  hastily  towards  him, 
when  he  said  hastily,  "stoop,  stoop !"  I  did  not  under- 
stand him  till  I  felt  my  head  hit  against  the  beam.  He 
was  a  man  who  never  missed  any  occasion  of  giving  in- 
structions, and  upon  this  he  said  to  me :  "  You  are  young, 
and  have  the  world  before  you :  Stoop  as  you  go  through 
it,  and  you  will  miss  many  hard  thumps.  This  advice, 
thus  beat  into  my  head,  has  frequently  been  of  use  to  me ; 
and  I  often  think  of  it,  when  1  see  pride  mortified,  and 
misfortunes  brought  upon  people  by  their  carrying  their 
heads  too  high.  1  long  much  to  see  again  my  native 
place ;  and  once  hoped  to  lay  my  bones  there.  I  left  it 
in  1723.  I  visited  it  in  1733,  1743,  1753,  and  1763; 
and  in  1773, 1  was  in  England.  In  1775, 1  had  a  sight 
of  it,  but  could  not  enter,  it  being  in  possession  of  the 
enemy.  I  did  hope  to  have  been  there  in  1783,  but  could 
not  obtain  my  dismission  from  this  employment  here  5 
and  now  I  fear  I  shall  never  have  that  happiness.  My 
best  wishes  however  attend  my  dear  country,  "  esto  per- 
petua  "  It  is  now  blest  with  an  excellent  constitution ; 
tnay  it  last  forever ! 

This  powerful  monarchy  continues  its  friendship  for 
the  United  States.  It  is  a  friendship  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance to  our  security,  and  should  be  carefully  cul- 
tivated. Britain  has  not  yet  well  digested  the  loss  of  her 
dominion  over  us ;  and  has  still,  at  times,  some  flattering 
hopes  of  recovering  it.  Accidents  may  increase  those 
hopes,  and  encourage  dangerous  attempts*.  A  breach  be- 
tween us  and  France  would  infallibly  bring  the  English 
again  upon  our  backs ;  and  yet  we  have  some  wild  beasts 
among  our  countrymen,  who  are  endeavouring  to  weaken 
that  connection. 

Let  us  preserve  our  reputation,  by  performing  our  en- 
gagements; our  credit  by  fulfilling  our  contracts ;  and 
our  friends  by  gratitude  and  kindness;  for  we  know  not 
bew  soon  we  may  a«-ain  have  occasion  for  all  of  them. 

Ibid.    . 


EPISTOLARY, 

On  modern  innovations  on  the  English  language,  and  in 
printing. 

From  Ae  same,  to  Noah  Webster,  junr.  esq.  at  Hartford!. 

DEAR  Sin, 

I  received,  some  time  since,  your  Dissertations  on 
tiie  English  language.  It  is  an  excellent  work,  and  wiR 
be  very  useful  i7i  turning  the  thoughts  of  our  countrymen 
to  correct  writing.  Please  to  accept  my  thanks  for  it,  as 
well  as  for  the  great  honour  you  nave  done  me  in  its 
dedication.  I  ought  to  have  made  this  acknowledgment 
sooner,  but  much  indisposition  prevented  me. 

I  cannot  but  applaud  your  zeal  for  preserving  the  pu- 
rity of  our  language,  both  in  its  expression  and  pronun- 
ciation, aucl  correcting  the  popular'  errors  which  several 
of  our  states  are  continually  falling  into  with  respect  to 
both.  Give  me  leave  to  mention  some  of  them,  though 
possibly  they  may  have  already  occurred  to  you.  I  wish, 
however,  that  in"  some  future  publication  of  yours,  you 
would  set  a  discountenancing  mark  upon  them.  The 
iirst  I  remember  is  the  word  improved.  When  I  left 
New  England,  in  the  year  1723,  this  word  had  never 
been  used  among  us,  as  far  as  I  knew,  but  in  the  sense 
of  ameliorated,,  or  made  better,  except  once  in  a  very  old 
book  of  Dr.  Mather's,  entitled,  Remarkable  Providences. 
As  that  man  wrote  a  very  obscure  hand,  I  remember  that 
when  I  read  that  word  in  his  book,  used  instead  of  the 
word  employed,  I  conjectured  that  it  was  an  error  of  the 
printer,  who  had  mistaken  a  short  /  in  the  writing  for  an 
r,  and  a  y  with  too  short  a  tail,  for  a  r,  whereby  employed , 
was  converted  into  improved  ;  but  when  I  returned  to 
Boston  in  1733,1  found  this  change  had  obtained  favour, 
and  was  then  became  common  ;  for  I  met  with  it  often 
in  perusing  the  newspapers,  where  it  frequently  made  an 
appearance  rather  ridiculous.  Such,  for  instance,  as  the 
advertisement  of  a  country  house  to  be  sold,  which  had 
been  many  years  improved  .as  a  tavern  5  and  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  deceased  country  gentlemen,  that  he  had  been 
for  more  than  thirty  years,  improved  as  a  justice  of  the 
peace.  The  use  of  the  word  improved  is  peculiar  to  New 
England,  and  not  to  be  met  with  among  any  other  speak- 
ers of  English,  either  on  this  or  the  other  side  of  the  wa- 
ter. 


183  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

During  my  late  absence  in  France,  I  find  that  several 
other  new  words  have  been  introduced  into  our  parlia- 
mentary language.  For  example,  I  find  a  verb  farmed 
from  the  substantive  notice.  1  should  not  have  noticed 
this  were  it  not  that  the  gentlemen,  <§*c.  Also,  another 
verb,  from  the  substantive  advocate :  The  gentleman  who 
advocates,  or  who  has  advocated  that  motion,  <J*c.  Ano- 
ther from  the  substantive  progress,  the  most  awkward  and 
abominable  of  the  three  :  Tlie  committee  having  progress- 
ed, resolved  to  adjourn.  The  word  opposed,  though  not 
anew  word,  I  find  used  in  a  new  manner,  as  the  gentle- 
men who  are  opposed  to  this  measure,  to  which  1  have  al- 
so myself  always  been  opposed.  If  you  should  happen  to 
be  of  my  opinion  with  respect  to  these  innovations,  you 
will  use  your  authority  in  reprobating  them. 

The  Latin  language,  long  the  vehicle  used  in  distribut- 
ing knowledge  among  the  different  nations  of  Europe,  is 
daily  more  and  more  neglected  ;  arid  one  of  the  modern 
tongues,  viz.  French,  seems  in  point  of  universality,  to 
have  supplied  its  place.  It  is  spoken  in  all  the  courts  of 
Europe  5  and  most  of  the  literati,  those,  even  who  do  not 
speak  it,  have  acquired  a  sufficient  knowledge  of  it  to  en- 
able them  easily  to  read  the  books  that  are  written  in  it. 
This  gives  a  considerable  advantage  to  that  nation.  It 
enables  its  authors  to  inculcate  and  spread  through  other 
nations,  such  sentiments  &  opinions,  on  important  points, 
as  are  most  conducive  to  its  interests,  or  which  may  con- 
tribute to  its  reputation,  by  promoting  the  common  inter- 
ests of  mankind.  It  is,  perhaps,  owing  to  its  being  writ- 
ten in  French,  that  Voltaire's  Treatise  on  Toleration,  has 
had  so  sudden  and  so  great  an  effect  on  the  bigotry  of 
Europo,  as  almost  entirely  to  disarm  it.  The  general  use 
of  the  French  language  has  likewise  a  very  advantageous 
effect  on  the  profits  of  the  bookselling  branch  of  commerce, 
it  being  well  known,  that  the  more  copies  can  be  sold, 
that  arc  struck  off  from  one  composition  of  types,  the 
profits  increase  in  a  much  greater  proportion  than  they 
do  in  making  a  greater  number  of  pieces  in  any  other  kind 
of  manufacture.  And,  at  present,  there  is  no  capital  town 
In  Europe  without  a  French  bookseller's  shop  correspond- 
ing with  Paris.  Our  English  bids  fair  to  obtain  the  second 
place.  The  great  body  of  excellent  printed  sermons  in  our 
language,  as  the  freedom  of  our  writings  on  political  sub- 
jects? have  induced  a  great  number  of  divisions  of  differed 


EPISTOLARY.  183 

sects  of  nations,  as  well  as  gentlemen  concerned  in  pub- 
lic affairs  to  study  it,  so  far  at  least  as  to  be  able  to  read 
it.  And  if  we  were  to  endeavour  to  facilitate  its  progress, 
the  study  of  our  tongue  might  become  much  more  gene- 
ral. Those  who  have  employed  some  part  of  their  time 
in  learning  a  new  language,  must  have  frequently  observ- 
ed, that  while  their  acquaintance  with  it  was  imperfect, 
difficulties,  small  in  themselves,  operated  as  great  ones 
in  obstructing  their  progress.  A  book,  for  example,  ill 
printed,  or  a  pronunciation  in  speaking  not  well  articula- 
ted, would  render  a  sentence  unintelligible,  which,  from 
a  clear  print,  or  a  distinct  speaker,  would  have  been  im- 
mediately comprehended.  If  therefore,  we  would  have 
the  benefit  of  seeing  our  language  more  generally  known 
amowg  mankind,  we  should  endeavour  to  remove  all  the 
difficulties,  however  small,  that  discourage  the  learning 
of  it :  but  I  am  sorry  to  observe,  that  of  late  years,  those 
difficulties,  instead  of  being  diminished,  have  been  aug- 
mented. 

In  examining  the  English  books  that  were  printed  be- 
tween the  restoration  and  the  accession  of  George  the 
second,  we  may  observe,  that  all  substantives  were  begun 
with  a  capital,  in  which  we  imitated  our  mother  tongue, 
the  German.  This  was  more  particularly  useful  to  those 
who  were  not  well  acquainted  with  the  English, there  be- 
ing such  a  prodigious  number  of  our  words  that  are  both 
verbs  and  substantives,  and  spelt  in  the  same  manner, 
though  often  accented  differently  in  pronunciation.  This 
method  has,  by  the  fancy  of  printers,  of  late  years,  been 
entirely  laid  aside ;  from  an  idea,  that  suppressing  the 
capitals  shews  the  character  to  greater  advantage ;  these 
letters,  prominent  above  the  line,  disturbing  its  even,  re- 
gular appearance.  The  effect  of  this  change  is  so  consid- 
erable, that  a  learned  man  in  France,  who  used  to  read 
our  books,  though  not  perfectly  acquainted  with  our 
language,  in  conversation  with  me  on  the  subject  of  our 
authors,  attributed  the  greater  obscurity  he  found  in  our 
modern  books,  compared  with  those  written  in  the  period 
above  mentioned  to  change  of  style  for  the  worse  in  our 
writers;  of  which  mistake  I  convinced  him,  by  marking 
for  him  each  substantive  with  a  capital,  in  a  paragraph, 
which  he  then  easily  understood,  though  before  he  could 
not  comprehend  it.  This  shews  the  inconvenience  of 
that  pretended  improvement. 


li'4  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

From  the  same  fondness  for  an  uniform  and  even  ap- 
pearance of  characters  in  the  line,  the  printers  have  of 
!ate  banished  also  the  Italic  types,  in  which  words  of  im- 
portance to  be  attended  to-  in  the  sense  of  the  sentence) 
iml  words  on  which  an  emphasis  should  be  placed  in  read- 
ing, used  to  be  printed.  And  lately  another  fancy  has 
induced  other  printers  to  use  the  round  s  instead  of  the 
long  one,  which  formerly  served  well  to  distinguish  a 
word  readily  by  its  varied  appearance.  Certainly  the 
omitting  this  permanent  letter,  makes  a  line  appear- 
more  even%  but  renders  it  less  immediately  legible  ;  as  the 
pairing  of  all  men's  noses  might  smooth'and  level  their 
laces,  but  would  render  their  physiognomies  less  distin- 
guishable. Add  to  all  these  improvements  backwards, 
another  modern  fancy,  thai  grey  printing  is  more  beauti- 
ful than  black.  Hence  the  English  new  books  are  prin- 
ted in  so  dim  a  character,  as  to  be  read  with  difficulty  by 
old  eyes,  unless  in  a  very  strong  light  and  with  good 
glasses.  Whoever  compares  a  volume  of  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine,  printed  between  the  years  1T31  and  1740, 
with  one  of  those  printed  in  the  last  tea  years,  will  be 
convinced  of  the  much  greater  degree  of  perspicuity  giv- 
en by  the  black  than  bjr  the  grey.  Lord  Chesterfield 
pleasantly  remarked  this  difference  to  Faulkener,  the 
printer  of  the  Dublin  Journal,  who  was  vainly  making  en- 
comiums on  his  own  paper,  as  the  most  complete  of  any 
in  the  world.  "  But,  Mr.  Faulkener,"  says  my  lord, 
"  don't  you  think  it  might  be  still  farther  improved,  by 
using  paper  arid  irrk  not  quite  so  near  of  a  colour."  For  all 
these  reasons,  I  cannot  but  wish  that  our  American  prin- 
ters would,  in  their  editions,  avoid  these  fancied  improve- 
ments, and  thereby  render  their  works  more  agreeable  to 
foreigners  in  Europe,  to  the  great  advantage  of  our  book- 
selling commerce. 

Farther,  to  be  more  sensible  of  the  advantage  of  clear 
and  distinct  printing,  let  us  consider  the  assistance  it  af- 
fords in  reading  aloud  to  an  auditory.  In  so  doing,  the 
eye  generally  slides  forward  three  or  four  words  before 
the  voice.  If  the  sight  clearly  distinguishes  what  the 
coming  words  are,  it  gives  time  to  order  the  modulation 
of  th<j  voice,  to  express  them  properly.  But  if  they  are 
obscurely  printed,  or  disguised  by  omitting  the  capitals 
and  long  s's,  or  otherwise,  the  reader  is  apt  to  modulate 
tvreng,  and  finding  he  has  done  so,  he  is  obliged  to  go 


EPISTOLARY.  185 

back  and  begin  the  sentence  again,  which  lessens  the 
pleasure  of  the  hearers.  This  leads  me  to  mention  an 
old  error  in  our  mode  of  printing.  We  are  sensible 
that  when  a  question  is  met  with  in  the  reading,  there  is 
a  proper  variation  to  be  used  in  the  management  of  the 
voice.  We  have,  therefore,  a  point,  called  an  interroga- 
tion, affixed  to  the  question  in  order  to  distinguish  it. — - 
But  this  is  absurdly  placed  at  its  end,  so  that  the  reader 
does  not  discover  it  till  he  finds  that  he  has  wrongly  mod- 
ulated his  voice,  and  is  therefore  obliged  to  begin  again 
the  sentence.  To  prevent  this,  the  Spanish  printers, 
more  sensibly,  place  an  interrogation  at  the  beginning  as 
well  as  at  the  end  of  the  question.  We  have  another  er- 
ror of  the  same  kind  in  printing  plays,  where  something 
often  occurs  that  is  marked  as  spoken  aside.  But  the 
word  aside,  is  placed  at  the  end  of  the  speech,  when  it 
ought  to  precede  it,  as  a  direction  to  the  reader,  that  he 
may  govern  his  voice  accordingly.  The  practice  of  our 
ladies,  in  meeting  five  or  six  together,  to  form  little  busy 
parties,  where  each  is  employed  in  some  useful  work, 
while  one  reads  to  them,  is  so  commendable  in  itself,  that 
rt  deserves  the  attention  of  authors  and  printers  to  make 
it  as  pleasing  as  possible,  both  to  the  readers  and  hearers, 
My  best  wishes  attend  you,  being,  with  sincere  esteem, 
•Sir,  your  most  obedient  and  very  humble  servant. 

*  Life  of  Franklin , 

.-I  


LETTERS  OF  GENERAL  GREHNE, 

His  Excellency  the  President  of  Congress. 

Philadelphia,  Nov.  1,  1780, 
SIR* 

The  impossibility  of  employing  an  army  to  advan- 
tage,  in  winter  operations,  without  being  clothed,  makes 
me  very  anxious  to  try  every  way  and  means  to  provide 
for  the  southern  army,  as  it  is  more  than  probable  the 
troops  will  be  out  all  winter. 

To  take  men  into  the  field  without  clothing,  is  doing 
violence  to  humanity,  and  can  be  attended  with  nothing 
but  disgrace,  distress,  and  disappointment  5  and  congress 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

will  baburthened  with  all  the  expense  of  a  well-appoint - 
•••jy,  without  the  least  advantage  from  their  service  : 
:hi  persuaded  the  expense  of  the  hospital  depart - 
,vili  nearly  equal  that  of  the  clothiers';   sustaining, 
esj  t'.io  loss  of  a  great  number  of  valuable  soldiers. 
Youiig  troops  that  are  hastily  drawn  together,  and  who 
jeen  accustomed  to  all  that  domestic  indulgence 
prevails    among  the  inhabitants  of   this  coun- 
try, arc  altogether  unfit  to  be  exposed  to  a  winter  cam- 
paign, even  in  the  southern  states,  without  being  clothed, 
and  I  am  well  persuaded  that  all  such  as  shall  be  called 
into  the  field,  without  clothing,  will,  before  they  have 
;  liied  a  month's  service,  be  transferred  from  the 
army  to  the  hospital.     To  avoid  this  evil,  as  well  as  put 
the  southern  army  in  a  condition  to  contend   with  the 
enemy.,  on  ar>  equal  footing,  I  beg  leave  to  propose  en.- 
:«;  the  merchants  of  this  city  to  furnish  five  thousand 
suits  of  clothing  for  the  troops,  which  they  will  agree  to 
provide  and  have  in  readiness  in  one  month  from   this 
time,  and  will  also  agree  to  take  bills  oa  France  in  pay- 
ment. 

The  object  is  so  important,  and  the  necessity  so  greafr, 
that  I  am  persuaded  no  arguments  are  necessary  to  in- 
duce congress  to  adopt  the  measure,  if  it  can  be  done 
consistent  with  the  general  interest  of  these  states. 

I  had  a  meeting,  with  some  of  the  principal  merchants 
of  this  city  yesterday  upon  this  business,  and  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  suggest  this  mode  of  providing  clothing? 
from  an  earnest  desire  that  the  troops  which  are  to  be 
mder  my  command  may  be  put  in  a  condition  to  be  as  ex- 
censively  useful  as  possible. 

1  could  wish  to  know  the  sentiments,  of  congress  upon 
;he  business  as  soon  as  possible,  as  I  propose-  to  leave 
;Ms  city  in  the  morning. 

•I  h?*ve  the  honour  to  be,  &C*  Port  Folio. 


To  General  Gates: 

Camp  Charlotte,  Dec.  6,  1780. 

IB, 

Agreeably  to-  m^instruetions,  I  have  taken  the  opin- 
ion of  the  general  and  other  principal  officers  of  the  army, 
the  practicability  of  holding  a  court  of  enquiry  into 


EPISTOLARY.  187 

your  conduct,  during  your  command  in  this  department. 
They  are  unanimous  in  the  opinion  that  it  is  not  practica- 
ble, agreeable  to  the  tenor  of  my  instructions,  and  that 
it  would  not  be  prudent  to  call  baron  Steubeu,  from  Vir- 
ginia without  further  information  from  that  quarter;  and 
the  circumstances  of  this  army  would  not  admit  of  the 
inquiry  being  made,. even  if  the  baron  was  here. 

Your  earnest  desire  to  have  the  court  held,  would  have 
induced  me  to  call  the  baron  to  this  army, had  the  officers 
been  of  opinion  that  our  circumstances  would  admit  of 
the  inquiry  bein^  made,  unless  t!:^  operations  of  the 
enemy  in  Virginia  had  rendered  his  continuance  there 
very  essential,  in  which  case,  Iain  persuaded,  you  would 
neither  wish  nor  expect  it- 

I  flatter  myself  you  are  fully  convinced  that  I  am 
equally  anxious  with  yourself  for  having  the  court  con- 
vened, and  no  less  desirous  of  giving  you  an  early  oppor- 
tunity of  justifying  yourself  to  the  world,  than  you  are 
of  submitting  your  conduct  to  an  impartial  inquiry.  As 
aoon  as  the  state  of  this  army  will  admit  of  my  convening 
a  court,  agreeable  to  the  tenor  of  my  instructions,  I  will 
give  you  immediate  notice  thereof. 

I  am,  with  esteem,  &c.  Ibid. 


To  the  right  honourable  the  Earl  Cornwallis,  Lieutenant 
General,  <Jfc.  <$c.  <$c. 

MY  LORD, 

Your  lordship's  letter  of  the  1st  instant,  addressed  to 
major  general  Gates,  I  had  the  honour  to  receive,  he  hav- 
ing left  this  department  before  it  came  to  hand. 

I  have  written  general  Sumpter  respecting  the  violation 
of  the  flag  mentioned  in  your  letter,  and  am  persuaded 
he  will  take  such  measures  as  will  be  satisfactory  to 
your  lordship,  as  well  for  restoring  the  honours  of  the 
flag  in  the  present  instance,  as  for  preserving  it  inviolate 
in  future. 

I  am  too  much  a  stranger  to  the  transactions  of  Gil- 
berttown  to  reply  fully  on  that  subject.  They  must 
have  been  committed  before  my  arrival  in  the  depart- 
ment, and  by  persons  under  the  character  of  volunteers, 
who  were  independent  of  the  army.  However,  if  there 
was  any  thing  done  in  that  affair  contrary  to  the  princi- 


1S8  REPUBLICAN"  COMPILER. 

pies  of  humanity  and  the  law  of  nations,  and  for  which 
tliey  had  not  the  conduct  of  your  army  as  a  precedent^ 
I  shall  be  ever  ready  to  testity  my  disapprobation  of  it. 

The  first  example  was  furnislied  on  your  part,  as  ap- 
pears by  the  list  of  unhappy  sufferers  which  I  have  the. 
honour  to  enclose,  and  it  might  have  been  expected  that 
the  friends  of  the  unfortunate  persons  would  follow  it. 

Punishing  capitally  for  breach  cf  a  military  parole  ig 
a  severity  that  the  principles  of  modern  war  will  not  au- 
thorize, unless  the  inhabitants  are  to  be  treated  as  a  con- 
quered people,  and  subject  to  all  the  rigour  of  military 
government. 

The  feelings  of  mankind  will  forever  decide  when  the 
rights  of  humanity  are  invaded.  I  leave  them  to  judge 
of  the  nature  amf  tendency  of  your  lordships  orders  to 
lieut.  colonel  Balfour,  after  the  action  near  Camden,  of 
lord  Rawdon's  proclamation  and  lieut.  colonel  Tarle- 
ton's  conduct  in  laying  waste  the  country  and  distressing 
the  inhabitants,  who  were  taught  to  expect  protection 
and  security  if  they  observed  but  a  neutrality. 

Sending  the  inhabitants  of  Charlestown,  to  St.  Au- 
gustine, contrary  to  the  articles  of  capitulation,  is  a 
violation  which  I  have  also  to  represent,  and  which  I 
hope  your  lordship  will  think  yourself  bound  to  redress. 
It  is  my  wish  to  soften  the  rigours  of  war  as  much  as 
possible,  and  it  shall  be  my  study  to  render  the  sufferings 
of  the  unfortunate  on  either  side  as  light  as  may  be.  For 
this  purpose,  I  should  be  happy  to  promote  an  exchange 
of  prisoners  on  just  and  equal  principles;  and  where  ex- 
changes cannot  immediately  take  place,  to  grant  paroles 
to  the  officers  in  captivity. 

I  am,  my  lord,  your  lordship's  most  obedient,  humble 
servant.  Ibid* 


To  his  Excellency  General  Washington. 

West  Point,  Oct.  19th,  1770. 

SIR, 

Your  excellency's  favour  of  the  18th,  was  delivered 
me  this  afternoon.  [  had  given  up  the  thoughts  of  going 
•home  before  the  receipt  of  your  letter,  even  if  I  could 
have  been  indulged  with  your  permission.  My  affairs 


EPISTOLARY.  1S13 

require  it;  but  I  was  afraid  it  would  take  up  too  much 
time,  considering  the  critical  state  of  affairs  to  the  south- 
ward. 

The  day  that  I  marched  from  Tappan,  I  wrote  for  Mrs. 
Greene,  and  expect  her  here  every  hour.  When  I  wrote 
for  liberty  to  go  home,  it  was  my  intention  to  have  stop- 
ped her  on  the  road,  and  turned  her  back ;  but  if  I  should 
Get  out  before  her  arrival,  the  disappointment,  added  to 
the  shock  of  my  going  to  the  southward,  I  fear  will  have 
some  very  disagreeable  effect  upon  her  health,  especial- 
ly as  her  apprehensions  were  very  lively  on  the  subject, 
Defore  there  was  even  a  probability  of  my  going. 

J  see  the  necessity  for  setting  out,  and  feel  the  neces- 
sity for  staying.  1  must  beg  your  excellency's  indul- 
gence for  one  day  longer;  alter  which,  if  IVIrs.  Greene 
don't  arrive,  I  shall  immediately  set  out  for  head -quar- 
ters. My  baggage  sets  off  to-morrow,  if  I  am  not  disap- 
pointed in  getting  horses,  which  colonel  Hughes  promis- 
es me  shall  rot  be  the  case.  Nothing  shall  detain  me 
longer  than  a  couple  of  days  from  head -quarters,  unless 
I  am  very  unwell  indeed. 

I  thank  your  excellency  for  the  double  assurance  you 
give  me  ot  support,  and  long  to  be  on  my  journey,  to 
meet  lord  Coruwallis,  before  he  advances  too  far  into  the 
heart  of  North  Carolina. 

I  am,  with  great  respect  and  esteem,  your  excellen- 
cy's most  obedient,  humble  servant  Port  Folio. 


Letter  from  General  St.  Clair  to  the  Hon.  John  Jay,  r<> 
lative  to  his  evacuation  of  Ticcndsroga* 

Moses'  Creek,  July  25th,  1727, 

SIR, 

GENERAL  SCHUYLER  was  good  enough  to  read  to 
me  part  of  a  letter  he  received  last  night  from  you.  I 
cannot  recollect  that  any  of  my  officers  ever  asked  my 
reasons  for  leaving  Ticonderoga;  but  as  I  have  found 
the  measure  much  decried,  I  have  often  expressed  my- 
self in  this  manner:  "  That  as  to  myself,  I  was  perfect- 
ly easy;  I  was  conscious  of  the  uprightness  arid  proprie- 
ty of  my  conduct,  and  despised  the  vague  censure  of  an 


190  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

uninformed  populace ;"  but  had  no  allusion  to  an  order 
from  general  Schuyler  for  my  justification,  because  no 
such  order  existed. 

The  calumny  thrown  on  general  Schuyler,  on  account 
of  that  matter,  has  given  me  great  uneasiness.  I  assure 
you,  Sir,  there  never  was  any  tiling  more  cruel  and  un- 
just: for  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter  until  it  was  over, 
more  than  you  did  at  Kino-ston.  It  was  done  in  conse- 
quence of  a  consultation  with  the  other  general  officers, 
without  the  possibility  of  general  Schuyler's  concur- 
rence :  and  had  the  opinion  of  that  council  been  contra- 
ry to  what  it  was,  it  would  nevertheless  have  taken  place, 
because  1  knew  it  to  be  impossible  to  defend  the  post 
with  our  numbers. 

In  my  letter  to  Congress,  from  fort  Edward,  HI  which 
I  gave  them  an  account  of  my  retreat,  is  this  paragraph: 
"It  was  my  original  design  to  retreat  to  this  place,  that 
I  might  be  betwixt  general  Burgoyne  and  the  inhabit- 
ants, and  that  the  militia  might  have  something  in  this 
quarter  to  collect  to."  It  is  now  effected,  and  the  mili- 
tia are  coming  in,  so  that  I  have  the  most  sanguine  hopes 
that  the  progress  of  the  enemy  will  be  checked,  and  I 
may  have  the  satisfaction  to  experience,  that,  although  I 
have  lost  a  post,  I  have  eventually  saved  a  state. 

Whether  my  conjecture  is  right  or  not,  is  uncertain* 
but  had  our  army  been  made  prisoners,  which  it  certainly 
would  have  been,  the  state  of  New  York  would  have  beea 
much  more  exposed  at  present. 

I  proposed  to  general  Schuyler,  on  my  arrival  at  fort 
Edward,  to  have  a  note  sent  to  the  printer,  to  assure  the 
people,  he  had  no  part  in  abandoning  what  they  consid- 
ered their  strong  holds :  he  thought  it  was  not  so  proper 
at  that  time  ;  but  it  is  no  more  than  what  I  owe  to  truth 
and  to  him,  to  declare,  that  he  was  totally  unacquainted 
with  the  matter;  and  I  should  be  very  glad  that  this  let- 
ter, or  any  part  of  it  you  may  think  proper  to  communi- 
cate, may  convince  the  unbelieving. 

Simple  unbelief  is  easily  and  soon  convinced ;  but  when 
malice  or  envy  occasions  it,  it  is  needless  to  attempt  con- 
viction. Wilkinson's  "  Memoirs  of  his  am  times." 


EPISTOLARY. 

Letter  from  General  Washington  to  Major  Lee,  respect" 
ing  a  proposed  attempt  to  capture  General  Arnold. 

DEAR  SIR, 

The  plan  proposed  for  taking  A d,  (the  outlines 

of  which  are  communicated  in  your  letter,  which  was 
this  moment  put  into  my  hands  without  date)  has  every 
mark  of  a  good  one.  I  therefore  agree  to  the  promised 
yewards ;  and  have  such  entire  confidence  in  your  man- 
agement of  the  business,  as  to  give  it  my  fullest  approba- 
tion, and  leave  the  whole  to  the  guidance  of  your  own 
judgement,  with  this  express  stipulation  and  pointed  in- 
junction, that  he,  (A -d.)  is  brought  tome  alive. 

No  circumstance  whatever,  shall  obtain  my  consent  to 
his  being  put  to  death.  The  idea  which  would  accompa- 
ny such  an  event,  would  be,  that  ruffians  had  been  hired 
to  assassinate  him.  My  aim  is  to  make  a  public  example 
of  him  !  and  this  should  be  strongly  impressed  upon  those 
who  are  employed  to  bring  him  off.  The  sergeant  must 
be  very  circumspect ;  too  much  zeal  may  create  suspi- 
cion— and  too  much  precipitancy  may  defeat  the  project. 
The  most  inviolable  secrecy  must  be  observed  on  all 
hands.  I  send  you  five  guineas ;  but  1  am  riot  satisfied 
of  the  propriety  of  the  sergeants  appearing  with  much 
specie.  This  circumstance  may  also  lead  to  suspicion, 
as  it  is  but  too  well  known  to  the  enemy,  that  we  do  not 
abound  in  this  article. 

The  interviews  between  the  party  in  and  out  of  the 
citjr,  should  be  managed  with  much  caution  and  seeming 
indifference  ;  or  else  the  frequency  of  their  meetings, 
&c.  may  betray  the  design,  and  involve  bad  consequen- 
ces; but  I  am  persuaded  you  will  place  every  matter  in 
a  proper  point  of  view  to  "the  conductors  of  this  interest- 
ing business,  and  therefore,  I  shall  only  add,  that  I  am, 
dear  Sir,  &c.  &c. 

Lee's  Memoirs  of  the  Southern  War* 


192  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Humorous  letter  from  Dr.  Franklin  to  a  young  lady 

London,  September  26th,  1773. 

DEAR  Miss, 

I  lament  with  you,  most  sincerely,  the  unfortunate 
death  of  poor  Mungo.  Few  squirrels  were  better  ac- 
complished 5  for  he  had  had  a  good  education,  had  tra- 
velled far,  and  seen  much  of  the  world.  As  he  ifad  the 
honor  of  being,  for  his  virtues,  your  favorite,  he  should 
not  go  like  common  skuggs,  without  an  elegy  or  an  epi- 
taph. Let  us  give  him  one,  in  a  monumental  style  and 
measure,  which,  being  neither  prose  nor  verse,  is  perhaps 
the  properest  for  grief,  since  to  use  common  language, 
would  look  a3  if  we  were  not  affected,  and  to  make 
rhymes,  would  seem  trifling  in  sorrow. 

JZLAS*  PQORMUJYGQ? 

Happy  v/ert  thou,  hadst  thou  known 

Thy  own  felicity! 
Remote  from  the  fierce  Bald-Eagle^ 

Tyrant  of  thy  native  woods, 
.o*j  hadst  nought  to  fear  from  his  piercing  talons: 
Nor  from  the  murdering  gun 
Of  the  thoughtless  sportsman. 

Safe  in  the  wire  castle, 

Grimalkin  never  could  annoy  thee. 

Bally  wert  thou  fed  with  the  choicest  viands, 

Bv  the  fair  hand 
Of  an  indulgent  mistress; 

But  discontented,  thou  wouldst  have  more  freedom. 
Too  soon,  alas !  didst  thou  obtain  it : 

And  wandering, 

Fell  by  the  merciless  fangs 

Of  wanton,  cruel  Hanger. 

Learn  here,  ye  who  blindly  wish  more  liberty, 

Whether  subjects,  sons,  squirrels'  or  daughters, 

That  apparent  restraint  may  be  real  protection. 

Yielding  peace,  plenty,  and  security. 


EPISTOLARY.  IS;: 

You  see  how  much  more  decent  and  proper  this  brok- 
en style,  interrupted  as  it  is  with  sighs,  is  for  the  occa- 
sion, than  if  one  were  to  say,  by  way  of  epitaph, 

Here  Skugg 
Lies  snug 
As  a  bug 
In  a  rug. 

And  yet,  there  are  people  in  the  world,  of  so  little 
feeling,  as  to  think  that  would  be  a  good  enough  epitaph 
for  our  poor  Mungo. 

If  you  wish  it,  I  shall  procure  another  to  succeed  him ; 
but  perhaps  you  will  now  choose  some  other  amuse- 
ment. 

Remember  me  respectfully  to  all  the  good  family ;  and 
believe  me  ever,  your  affectionate  friend. 

Port  Folio. 


n 


.MISCELLANEOUS. 


Jl  Mirror  for  the  Petit  Maitres* 

A  skipping,  dancing,  worthless  tribe,  you  are, 

Fit  only  for  yourselves  :  you  herd  together  ; 

And  when  the  circling  glass  warms  jour  vain  hearts, 

You  talk  of  beauties  that  you  never  saw, 

And  fancy  raptures  that  you  never  felt.  Kowfc. 

IN  all  collections  of  essays,!  invariably  find  some  pa- 
per addressed  to  the  women,  that  is  either  ottered  as  a 
lecture  of  advice  or  levelled  at  them  with  all  the  severity 
of  satire;  while  the  men,  the  lords  of  the  creation  !  are 
suffered  to  grovel  on  in  vice,  or  to  sneak  through  the  world 
as  ignorant  or  worthless  characters.  Why  are  the  eyes 
of  these  authors  shut  against  the  follies  of  their  own  sex  ? 
Why  will  the  learned  mind  labour  to  seduce  woman 
again  to  taste  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  only  to  make 
her  sec  the  nakedness  of  those  around  her  ? — How  many 
youth  may  blush  at  the  wilful  neglect  of  their  understand  - 
ings !  blush,  when  they  recollect  the  high,  the  sublime 
nature  of  the  soul.  Good  Heaven  !  can  a  modern  fine, 
gentleman  suppose  himself  in  the  same  class  of  being 
with  an  Essex,  or  a  Sydney,  the  ornaments  of  the  six- 
teenth century?  To  mention  the  sacred  names  of  a 
Newton  or  a  Locke,  would  be  to  draw  a  comparison  be- 
tween the  feeble  glimmer  of  a  glow-worm  and  the  eftul  • 
gence  of  the  sun, 


1U6  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

The  first  emotion  of  the  human  heart  is  a  strong'desire 
of  happiness  ;  and,  in  minds  of  any  worth,  an  ambition  to 
be  eminent  in  something,  form  two  biasses,  which  em- 
phatically work  the  grandeur  and  immortality  of  the  soul; 
and,  if  properly  directed,  would  raise  man  to  the  highest 
perfection  of  which  his  frail  nature  is  capable.  The  am- 
bition of  a  manly  soul  ought  to  soar  to  intellectual  attain- 
ments— a  perfect  gentleman  must  not  be  ignorant  on  any 
subject.  To  be  uninformed  of  the  histories  of  Greece 
and  Rome,  setting  aside  that  of  our  country,  isabsolutely 
shameful :  yet  two  thirds  of  our  Jeusd'JKsprits  would  rub 
their  vacant  foreheads,  if  you  happened  to  ask  them  any 
questions  about  either  of  the  Gracchii,  but  hint  in  their 
ears,  the  names  of  Alcibiades  or  Phocion,  and  perhaps 
they  will  think  you  are  talking  of  some  old  clothes-inan! 

I  have  heard  mistakes  made  by  fashionable  young  men, 
that  a  school  boy  of  ten  years  old  would  blush  to  be  caught 
in.  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  giving  two  or  three  exam- 
ples. Some  ladies,  in  company  with  one  gentleman, 
y/ere  expressing  their  approbation  of  the  graceful  manner 
iu  which  Helen  leaves  her  loom  to  go  to  Paris  after  his 
Might  from  Menelaus — "  Ah  ladies  !"  says  he,  "  it  is  fine 
in  Pope ;  but  I  have  read  it  in  the  original  Latin,  and 
there  it  is  beautiful  !" — "  In  Latin,  Sir,"  said  a  female 
friend  of  mine  who  was  present :  "  1  beg  your  pardon,  but 
Homer  was  a  Greek  poet." — "  No,  no,  madam  !"  he  has- 
tily replied,  "  you  mean  Horace,  I  assure  you  Homer 
was  a  Roman,  for  I  have  read  him  !" 

One  evening,  I  was  with  some  other  ladies,  in  a  room 
with  three  young  men.  How  the  subject  came  into  their 
heads,  I  know  not,  because  I  was  not  listening  to  their 
conversation :  but  my  attention  was  arrested,  by  one  of 
them  saying,  rather  loudly — "  Mark  Anthony  was  made 
king  of  one  of  the  Assyrian  provinces" — "  Perhaps  so  : 
but  I  am  sure"  replied  a  second  "  he  was  Csesar's  son" — 
"  You  both  mistake,"  interrupted  the  third  "  he  was  one 
of  the  villains  who  helped  Brutus  to  kill  Csesar  !"  1  was 
astonished  and  speechless  with  surprize,  gazed  at  the 
three  "  gay  charming  fellows !"  who,  in  my  opinion,  bet- 
ter deserved  the  appellation  of  the  blockhead  triumvir- 
ate. 

Are  these  illiterate,  shamelessly  ignorant  animals,  cf 
that  noble  species,  Man! — that  super-eminent  creature, 
whose  form  was  shaped  to  gaze  on  the  heavenS|  and  the- 


MISCELLANEOUS.  i*7 

faculties  of  whose  soul,  were  expanded  by  his  Creator, 
that  he  might  count  the  stars  !  And  how  does  he  now  em- 
ploy his  time?  Not  even  in  walking  the  plain  track  of 
literature — not  in  comparing  the  histories  of  republics, 
kingdoms  and  empires ;  and  while  he  reads  conversing 
with  wise  lawgivers  and  holy  patriarchs ! — not  in  search- 
ing through  the  labyrinths  of  the  human  mind  with  Locke  5 
nor  in  reading  the  "stars,  and  making  the  vast  tour  of  the 
universe,  in  company  with  the  divine  Newton  ! — No, 
these  are  not  his  pursuits;  he  reads  no  books,  save  now 
and  then  a  flimsy  play,  that  has  nothing  but  its  novelty 
to  recommend  it — and  perhaps  the  history  of  some  popular 
divorce.  Besides  the  theatre,  that  inestimable  fountain 
from  whence  he  derives  all  his  classical  knowledge,  a 
slight  acquaintance  with  the  geography  of  France,  just 
sufficient  to  enable  him  to  understand  the  news  of  the 
day,  is  all  the  learning  he  aspires  after.  Talk  of  the 
stars  to  him,  and  he  will  say  he  never  looks  at  any,  but 
those  in  a  woman's  face.  Talk  of  the  soul,  friendship, 
mind,  &c.  and  he  will  interrupt  you  by  saying,  that  is  a 
jargon  he  does  not  understand.  There  is  one  science,  I 
believe  the  whole  of  his  sex  are  perfectly  conversant  in — 
that  of  eating  and  drinking ;  on  the  subject  of  which  they 
could  outtalk  Apicices  himself.  And  1  will  do  them  the 
justice  to  say,  that  even  the  most  stupid  of  them  could 
reduce  it  to  a  system,  in  a  very  elaborate  treatise  on  tarts 
and  custards. 

Many  of  our  youth  are  so  monstrously  barren,  that  I 
can  positively  affirm,  that  there  are  not  eight  out  of  ten 
who  can  spell  an  epistle  of  one  page  in  length  without  the 
immediate  aid  of  a  dictionary.  As  to  their  accomplish- 
ments in  the  most  delightful  of  all  studies,  the  works  of 
the  poets,  I  can  say  little  or  nothing  to  their  advantage. 
The  swift,  though  tender  ray  of  Apollo's  halo  cannot  pen- 
etrate their  opake  brows.  Ignorance,  if  not  vitious  har- 
diment,  has  shielded  their  brazen  foreheads  ;  and  to  their 
dull  ear  the  "  concord  of  sweet  sounds"  is  charmless. 

I  know  that  there  are  some  who  have  skimmed  the  sur- 
face of  literature ;  and  being  swelled  with  the  little  pre- 
eminence they  have  over  their  companions,  they  are  wild 
to  show  their  superiority  over  common  sense.  Flinging 
reason  behind  them,  they  set  up  for  men  of  extraordina^ 
ry  genius ;  and  like  the  Persian  glass-man,  in  his  foolish 
Ji  2 


t«8  REPUBLICAN  COMPIL 

vision,  they  kick  about  their  earthly  happis.  nope* 

of  future  felicity,  with  a  real  lunatic  fuYy. 

Yet  there  are  others  of  our  young  men  who  are  an  hon- 
our to  their  country — who  join,  with  all  the  charms  of  & 
beiiiuifui  form,  the  more  attracting,  the  more  fascinating 
graces,  of  a  richly  cultivated  understanding,  and  a  poeti- 
cal and  delicate  taste ;  whose  society  will  always  be 
saught  after  with  eagerness;  and  when  absent,  the  re- 
membrance o.f  their  virtues  and  accomplishments  will 
play  a  lambert  flame  around  our  hearts,  and  no  time  cati 
erase  their  lovely  ideas  from  our  memories.  How  differ- 
ent are  the  sensations  which  agitate  the  bosom  of  a  fe- 
male, in  the  company  of  a  thoughtless  coxcomb  ! 

She  lets  the  poor  little  butterfly  flutter  round  her  and 
buz  its  empty  nothings  in  her  ear ;  and  when  it  takes  its 
flight,  thinks  no  more  of  it  than  of  those  insects  which 
sparkle  in  the  summer's  blaze. 

I  am  v/Qll  aware  that  if  this  ever  meets  the  eye  of  those 
to  whom  I  address  it,  they  will  set  me  down  as  a  disap- 
pointed— ugly — old  maid.  But  I  deny  the  charge — I 
am  not  old,  for  I  have  not  yet  lived  twenty-two  years 
— I  think  1  am  not  ugly,  provided  I  may  believe  the  daily 
rhapsodies  of  at  least" half  a  dozen  (if  .these  popingays  ; 
and  I  know  I  am  rich.  So  I  make  out  that  1  am  neither 
'he  disappointed,  the  ugly,  nor  the  old. 

Freemasons'  Magazine. 


The  way  to  make  money  plenty  in  every  man's  pocket* 


AT  this  time,  when  the  general  complaint  is  that" 
ney  is  scarce,"  it  will  be  an  act  of  kindness  to  inform  the 
moneyless  how  they  may  reinforce  their  pockets.  I  will 
acquaint  them  with  the  true  secret  of  money  -catching— 
the  certain  way  to  fill  empty  purses,  and  how  to  keep 
them  always  full. 

Two  bimple  rules,  well  observed,  will  do  the  business, 

First,  let  honesty  and  industry  be  thy  constant  compan- 
g  ;  and, 

Secondly,  spend  one  penny  less  than  thy  clear  gains. 

Then  shall  thy  hide-bound  pocket,  soon  begin  to  thrive. 
v/ill  never  again  cry  with  the  empty  belly-ache  ; 


'MISCELLANEOUS  il# 

neither  will  creditors  insult  thee,  nor  want  oppiess.  no: 
hunger  bite,  nor  nakedness  freeze  tiiee.  The  whole  hem  * 
isphere  will  shine  brighter,  and  pleasure  spring  up  in  ev- 
ery corner  of  thy  heart.  Now,  therefore,  embrace  these 
rules  and  be  happy.  Banish  the  bleak  winds  of  sorrow 
from  thy  mind,  and  live  independent.  Then  shalt  thou 
be  a  man,  and  not  hide  thy  face  at  the  approach  of  the 
rich,  nor  sutler  the  pain  of  feeling  little  when  the  sons  of 
fortune  walk  at  thy  right  hand  :  for  independency,  wheth- 
er with  little  or  much  is  good  fortune,  and  placeth  thee  on- 
even  ground  with  the  proudest  of  the  golden  fleece.  Oh 
then,  be  wise,  and  let  industry  walk  with  thee  in  the 
morning,  and  attend  thee  until  thou  readiest  the  evening 
hour  for  rest.  Let  honesty  be  as  the  breath  of  thy  soul, 
and  never  forget  to  have  a  penny  when  all  thy  expences 
are  enumerated  and  paid  ;  then  shalt  thou  reach  the  sum- 
mit of  happiness,  and  independence  shall  be  thy  shield 
and  buckler,  thy  helmet  and  crown ;  then  shall  thy  soul 
•walk  upright,  nor  stoop  to  the  silken  wretch  because  he 
hath  riches,  nor  pocket  an  abuse  because  the  hand  which 


•s  it.  wears  a  ring  set  with  diamonds. 


DR.    FRANKLIN* 


Obadiah  Olive's  Complaint. 

MR.  EDITOR, 

I  am  one  of  those  unfortunate  tradesmen  who  are 
plagued  with  a  reading  wife,  who,  according  to  my  no- 
tion, is  a  very  great  evil  in  a  house.  My  wife  does  hard- 
ly any  one  earthly  thing,  but  read,  read,  read,  almost 
from  the  time  that  she  gets  up,  to  the  time  that  she  goes 
to  bed.  Howsomever,  I  should  not  value  her  reading  so 
much  neither  5  though,  to  be  sure,  as  she  is  a  bookish  wo- 
man, she  is  of  very  little  service  to  me  in  my  business, 
did  she  not  very  often  oblige  me  to  hear  her,  when  I  had 
touch  rather  be  looking  over  my  own  books  ;  which,  bv  the 
way,  I  would  not  charge,  no,  that  I  would  not,  for  all  hers, 
notwithstanding  she  make*  such  a  confounded  route  about 
them,  so  that  my  ears  and  my  head  are  disturbed  at  the 
same  time.  For  my  part,  I  read  only  the  papers  in  order  to 
ses  how  the  nation  goes  on  5  and  what  chance  there  is 


CCD  REPUBLICAN  COMPILE?.. 

for  pushing  business.  But  the  worst  of  the  affair  Is  to  come. 
My  wife  has  lately  been  very  fond  of  a  book  full  of  hard 
words  ;  and  will  persist  in  reading  out  of  it  to  me  when 
ever  she  can  catch  me  at  leisure.  Now,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  don't  take  in  one  word  in  ten  which  comes  out 
of  her  mouth;  and  there  is  ito  pleasure,  you  know,  in 
hearing  what  you  can  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of,  I 
am  often  forced  to  say  to  her,  "  I  can ?t  for  the  soul  of  me, 
tell  what  the  author  would  be  at ;  he  is  a  confounded 
puzzling  fellow,  I  am  sure." 

We  had  a  terrible  brush  t'other  day,  Sir:  upon  her 
coming  out  with  a  plagued  hard  word",  I  said  to  her, 
"  lookee  here,  Mrs.  Olive,  it  don't  signify  three  farthings, 
I  can't  bear  no  longer,  to  sit  and  hear  what  I  don't  un- 
derstand. I  should  be  glad  to  know,"  says  I,  "  what  lan- 
guage you  are  reading  ?" 

"  Why  English,  to  be  sure,"  says  sher looking  fiercely 
at  me  as  if  she  would  eat  me. 

"  The  dogs  a  bit,"  says  I :  "  such  English  as  that  there 
you  have  been  reading,  I  never  heard  in  all  my  born 
days." 

The  answer,  though  I  spake  it  as  cool  as  a  cucumber, 
put  her  into  a  violent  passion — her  eyes  struck  fire,  and 
she  coloured  like  a  turkey-cock  at  the  sight  of  a  red  hand- 
kerchief. After  she  had  clapt  down  her  boo,k  on  the  ta- 
ble in  such  a  manner,  that  I  thought  verily  she  had  mao^ 
v/ork  for  the  joiner,  she  said,  "  your  want  of  erudition 
is  insupportable — I  pity  from  my  heart  the  paucity  of  your 
ideas  ;  you  are  the  lowest  of  terrestrial  beings,  and  it 
shocks  me  to  death  to  find  you  so  incapable  of  relishing 
the  compositions  of  a  man,  who  for  the  universality  of  his 
genius,  the  vivacious  ebullitions  of  his  fancy,  and  the  ex- 
uberance of  his  imagination ;  for  the  diversity  of  his 
matter,  the  subtilty  of  his  reasoning,  and  the  melody  of 
his  diction,  is  incontrovertibly  one  of  the  brightest  lumina- 
ries in  the  literary  world." 

Luckily,  to  my  no  small  satisfaction,  I  was  just  then 
called  down  stairs  to  receive  orders  from  one  of  my  best 
country  customers,  by  which  means,  I  was  not  under  a 
necessity  at  that  time  of  making  an  answer  to  a  speech 
which  was  indeed  quite  out  of  my  spere :  and  as  s0on  as 
I  had  done  that  job,  I  went  and  bought  Johnson's  Dic- 
tionary, that  I  might  be  able  to  understand  my  wife  a  lit- 
tle better  ;  but,  to  my  great  mortification,,  I  have  thrown 


MISCELLANEOUS,  fiOi 

away  my  money  5  for,  when  I  look  for  the  meaning  of  one 
of  Mrs.  Olive's  crank  words,  I  am  often  as  much,  if  not 
more,  puzzled  than  I  was  afore. 

My  wrongheaded  wife,  not  contented  with  talking  her- 
self not  to  be  understood  by  such  a  plain  man  as  Iain, 
brings  up  her  daughter  to  have  a  taste  for  the  same  kind 
of  language,  which,  I  am  sure,  is  not  fit  for  common  use. 
According  to  my  notion  now,  neither  tradesmen,  nor 
tradesmen's  wives,  nor  any  body  belonging  to  them,  have 
any  business  to  talk  like  skotards.  But  I  was  going  to 
tell  you  about  my  daughter.  Why,  Polly, Sir,  is^  clever 
girl  enough,  I  must  own,  and  old  enough,  (for  she  will  be 
nineteen  in  about  ten  days)  to  know  better  than  to  fol- 
low her  foolish  mother  in  what  only  makes  her  be  laughed 
at  by  all  her  acquaintance  behind  her  back.  Polly  has 
already  lost  a  good  match,  a  very  good  match,  by  her 
nonsensical  behaviour  ;  and  if  she  takes  after  her  moth- 
er, will  never  get  a  husband  worth  hanging.  A  storekeep- 
er in  the  neighbourhood,  an  industrious  young  fellow, 
courted  her,  and  I  do  verily  believe  would  have  married 
her  in  a  little  while ;  but  she  found  so  much  fault  one  day 
when  he  came  to  make  her  a  present  of  some  ribbons, 
with  his  phraseology  and  pronunciation,  telling  him  that 
he  had  a  barbarous  assemblage  of  expressions,  and  deliv- 
ered them  with  a  tiorrid  incorrectness,  that  he  took  nphis 
hat,  not  caring,  I  suppose,  to  be  treated  like  a  school- 
boy, for  which,  I  confess,  I  can't  blame  him,  and  has  ne- 
ver darkened  my  door  since. 

1  hope  all  unmarried  tradesmen,  when  thev  have  read 
this  letter,  (for  your  Magazine  will  undoubtedly  fall  into 
the  hands  of  many  such  people)  will  take  special  care  how 
they  venture  oh  a  bookish  woman.  For  my  part,  I  am 
sick  of  all  books,  but  those  belonging  to  my  shop. 

Freemasons*  Jlla- 


202  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Beauty  destroyed  by  Affectation. 

The  brightest  forms  through  Affectation  fade 

To  strange  new  tilings,  which  nature  never  made  : 

Frown  not,  ye  fair,  so  much  your  sex  we  prize, 

We  hate  those  arts  which  take  you  from  our  eyes. 

In  Aibucinda's  natlye  grace  is  seen, 

What  you,  who  labour  at  perfection  mean  : 

Short  is  the  rule  and  to  be  learnt  with  ease  ; 

Remain  your  gentle  selves,  and  you  must  please.  YOUNG. 

The  graces,  all  three  sisters,  all  extremely  pretty  la- 
dies, and  maids  of  honour  to  the  goddess  Venus,  the  all- 
powerful  queen  of  love  lived  together,  for  a  long  time,  in 
the  strictest  bonds  of  affection  and  friendship  one  to- 
wards another,  which  is  somewhat  extraordinary,  indeed 
iis  they  were  such  near  relations,  such  uncommon  beau- 
ties, and  such  distinguished  favourites  at  court. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  pride  and  ambition  sowed 
the  seeds  of  jealousy  among  them.  Each  began  to  plume 
herself  on  her  own  imaginary  charms;  and  each  insisted 
on  her  precedence,  as  having  the  most  fire  in  her  eyes,  the 
most  resistless  arts  of  pleasing  in  conversation,  and  the 
surest  and  most  enchanting  ways  of  making  captives  of 
her  beholders.  The  contest,  "in  short,  grew  so  warm, 
that  they  entertained  thoughts  of  making  their  appeal  to 
their  mistress  Venus,  on  so  important  &  critical  an  affair. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Miss  Euphrosyne,  with  a  smile  of 
indifference  and  disdain,  "  I  desire  no  better  judge,  since 
no  one  will  be  more  impartial;  and  we  are  all  sensible  that 
no  one  can  possibly  be  better  qualified  to  settle  and  ad- 
just the  merit  and  prize  of  beauty.  Let  us  lay,  my  dear 
sisters,  all  animosities  aside,  and  at  once,  without  more 
ado,  agree  to  refer  our  cause  to  her  decision.  Let  her  de- 
clare which  of  us  is  in  reality  possessed  of  the  most  pre- 
vailing charms,  the  most  resistless  arts  of  pleasing;  but 
then,  let  us  unanimously  agree,  likewise,  to  make  no  fur- 
ther appeals;  let  us  acquiesce  in,  and  subscribe  to  her 
sentence,  as  final  and  conclusive.55' 

"Subscribe  to  her  yourself,  if  you  please,95  replied 
Miss  Thalia,  not  a  little  nettled,  and  visibly  chagrined  at 
her  sister's  seeming  confidence  in  the  merit  of  her  cuusr. 

"  Without  any  further  words  or  dissension  between 
us,"  said  Miss  Aglaia,  "  I  highly  approve  of  the  proposal. 
I  .don't  care,  sisters,  for  my  part,  how  soon  our  pretty  cor. 
troversy  is  drawn  to  a  final  conclusion." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  105 

This  emulation  of  theirs  soon  reached  the  ears  of  their 
mistress  Venus,  who  summoned  them  all  immediately  to 
make  their  personal  appearance  in  court ;  and  accord- 
ingly assumed  the  bed  of  justice  with  such  a  grace,  and 
such  an  air  of  complacency,  as  is  beyond  the  power  of 
\vords  to  express  ;  reflecting,  with  a  secretjpleasure,  how 
in  time  past,  upon  a  dispute  of  a  like  nature,  the  golden 
apple  was  adjudged  to  herself  by  the  shepherd  Paris,  in 
preference  both  to  Juno  and  Minerva. 

The  court  being  set,  and  all  the  contending  parties  pre- 
sent, Venus  directed  each  of  them  to  exert  her  peculiar 
talents,  and  secret  arts  of  incantation,  to  which  she  laid  a 
peculiar  claim. 

Each  accordingly  prepared  to  obey  her  orders:  all  of 
them  equally  fired  with  a  fond  desire  and  resistless  hope 
of  being  pronounced  the  best  qualified  charmer,  with 
equal  pleasure  and  cheerfulness  practised  their  studied 
arts  and  stratagems  to  please  before  her.  But  those  re- 
sistless hopes,  those  fond  desires  of  approbation  with 
v/luch  they  were  all  embarrassed,  perfectly  baffled  their 
ambitious  views,  &  turned  out  to  their  equal  disadvantage. 

One  screwed  up  her  mouth  in  so  prim  a  form,  that  she 
made  the  most  frightful  and  disagreeable  figure  that  could 
well  be  conceived  ;  the  second,  through  an  inordinate 
ambition  to  shew  her  fine  row  of  teeth,  distorted  every 
feature  of  her  face  ;  and  the  last,  proud  of  her  black 
sparkling  eyes,  rolled  them  about  to  such  a  violent  de- 
gree, that,  in  the  eye  of  her  female  and  impartial  judge, 
she  appeared  perfectly  to  squint. 

"  Are  these  your  arts  ?"  said  Venus.  "Are  these  your 
-studied  charms"?  Fye,  ladies,  fye  !  I  almost  blush  for 

£[>u.  How  dare  you  put  on  such  artful  airs  before  me  ? 
et  out  of  court :  go  home  directly.  Consult  your  res- 
pective minors  with  impartiality,  and  let  me  hear  no  more 
of  your  unnatural  contentions.  If  you  arc  desirous  of  re- 
suming your  former  title,  I  mean  that  of  the  graces  and 
my  favourite  attendants ;  if  you  are  actually  eager  and 
fond  of  pleasing,  never  study  any  of  those  killing  airs,  I 
beseech  you.  As  the  least  thought  of  that  nature  is  too 
much,  never  think  of  your  charms  at  all ;  for  it  is  a  max- 
im with  me  that  will  admit  of  no  exception, — that 
-he  who  is  solicitous  of  pleasing  over  much,  inevita- 
bly gives  disgust.  In  a  word—"  Affectation  is  the  bane 
of  Beautv."  ibid, 


'204  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

GOSSIPPING. 
*2  JJialogue  from  Life. 

Mrs.  L.  Ah !  Mrs.  B.  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  How  do 
you  do,  ma'am  ? 

Mrs.  B.  Why,  ma'am,  not  very  well.  I  have  had  a 
cold  for  several  days.  Last  Thursday  night  I  went  to  pay 
a  visit  to  our  new  neighbour,  and  did'nt  put  on  a  shavvl| 
you  know  the  weather  was  quite  cool,  and  Mr.  B.  advis- 
ed me  to  put  on  one  ;  but  I  says  to  him,  says  I  — 

Mrs  L.  (),  ma'am  did  you  know  Sammy  Wiffet  is  go  ] 
ing  to  be  married  to  his  rich  cousin  at  last?  I  always 
told  you  it  would  be  a  match.  The  family,  I  knew, 
would  never  let  such  a  fine  fortune  go  out  of  it.  I  am 
told  they  are  going  to  live  at  her  father's  on  the  North 
River.  I  pity  her,  poor  thing,  for  that.  The  old  lady, 
I  understand,  has  not  the  best  temper  in  the  world.  Be- 
sides, I  am  told,  she  is  not  heartily  for  the  match.  She 
thinks  the  girl  and  boy  are  too  young  for  marriage  ;  and, 
?pon  my  word,  I  think  so  too.  I  do  assure  you,  she  is  no 
more  than  fifteen  ;  and  he,  I  can't  tell  his  age  exactly, 
but  I  remember  he  was  born  about  the  time  of  my  Jem- 
my's marriage ;  and  that  is,  let  me  see,  next  November 

will  be pray,  (looking  out  at  the  window)  whose 

coach  is  that  ? 

Mrs.  B.  Why,  ma'am,  I  don't  know ;  some  upstarts, 
I  dare  say  ;  but  my  cold  is  so  distressing,  and  I  have  not 
been  out  of  the  house  these  five  days,  and  hav'nt  seen  a 
soul  at  home,  and  just  run  over  to  have  a  little  chat  with 
you,  though  Mr.  B.  was  much  against  my  going  out  till 
I'm  quite  recovered.  "  If  you  must  go,"  says  he  "  be 
sure  to  put  on  a  shawl."  So  I  says  to  Betty,  «  Betty" 

savs  I  "  do  run  up  to  my  room  and  bring 

"Mrs.  L.  Ah,  ma'am,  now  I  think  of  it,  let  me  ask 
you've  heard  whether  theCalthorpes  are  going  to  stay  io 
their  house  this  year  ?  I'm  told  they're  going  to  give  it 
up,  and  going  to  live  in  the  country.  So  they  give  out : 
but  I  understand  the  true  reason  is,  Mr.  Calthorpe's  af- 

fairs .     But  I  beg  you'll  not  mention  this  again  as 

coming  from  me;  it's  mere  report  and  I  dare  say  an 't 
true;  but  I  just  tell  you  what  I've  heard  :  it  was  whis- 
pered to  me  as  a  great  §ecret,  by  Mrs.  Pry,  who  told  me 
not  to  mention  it  to  any  body,  and  I  wouldn't,  except  to 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

a  particular  friend  who  will  keep  it  to  herself.  Mr.  Cal- 
thorpe's  affairs  are  quite  deranged,  and  he  leaves  town 
to  prevent  his  ruin  ;  and  that,  [  think,  is  quite  prudent. 
To  be  sure,  he's  lived  in  too  high  a  style  since  his  marriage, 
His  wife  had  no  fortune ;  he  married  her  a  poor  ga?al, 
an  orphan,  poor  thing,  and  living  altogher  on  her  aunt, 
who  brought  her  up.  Pray  ma'am,  have  you  heard  any 
thing  of  their  affairs  ? 

Mrs.  B.  Why,  uia'am,  now  you  put  me  in  mind,  I 
think  I  did  hear  something  of  these  folks.  A  gentle- 
man, an  acquaintance  of  my  husband's,  a  Mr  — ,  I 

declare,  I've  forgot  his  name,  a  tail,  portly  man.  Mr.  B. 
Invited  him  to  dine  with  us  on  Sunday,  and  told  me  his 
name.  The  day  before,  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  Let's 

have  something  nice  to-morrow,  for  I've  asked  Mr. „ 

I  can't  think  of  his  name,  I  wonder  I'm  so  forgetful ;  but 
my  cold  is  so  troublesome,  that  I  don't  remember  nothing, 
I  wanted  to  take  advice,  but  Mr.  B.  laughed  me  out  of  it. 
<;  Wouldn't  it  be  as  well,"  says  I,  "  my  dear,  to  send  for 
Dr.  Bolus  ?  I'm  afraid,"  says  I,"  this  shocking  cold  will 
settle  on  my  lungs."  This  was  on  Friday  night,  about 
dusk;  and  just  as  I  was  speaking,  who  should  ^o  by  but 
the  doctor  himself.  So  my  husband  called  him  in  and 

Mrs.  L.  Ah,  ma'am,  that  puts  me  in  mind  of  some- 
thing I  wanted  to  ask  you.  I'm  told  Dr.  Bolus  is  really 
engaged  to  widow  Waddle,  and  that  they're  to  be  mar- 
ried very  shortly.  The  widow,  I  understand,  has  a  pret- 
ty snug  estate,  and  no  children,  and  the  doctor's  practice, 
they  tell  me  is  lessening  every  day,  since  that  uniortunate 
mistake  of  his  with  Polly  PepperilTs  child.  I  suppose 
you've  heard  of  this  story.  The  poor  child  was  drooping 
for  some  time, -and  the  tloctcr  was  called,  and  he  said  it 
v/as  the  measles, and  that  no  time  wasn't  to  be  lost;  and 
he  physiek'd  and  physick'd  till  the  poor  child  actually 
died.  Twas  a  sad  mistake, indeed  of  the  doctor's.  I'm 
told  the  family  was  very  angry,  and  the  doctor  hasn't  held 
up  his  head  since.  It's  high  time  the  doctor  was  mar- 
ried, if  he  means  to  be  at  all ;  though,  for  my  part,  I 
can't  say  I'm  over-fond  of  late  marriages.  What  do 
you  think  ma'am  ? 

Mrs.  B.  Why,  ma'am,  I  must  needs  say  I  don't  like 
them  at  all.  I  was  married  myself  at  seventeen,  and  I'm 
sure  I've  no  reason  in  the  world  to  repent  that  I  wa? 
8 


3*5  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

•married  so  early.  Mr.  B.  was  four  years  older  thaw  I 
was :  but  twenty-one  you  know  ma'am  is  quite  young  for 
a  man  :  and  Mr.  B.  was  in  a  good  way  of  business  to  main- 
tain  a  family :  and  to  be  sure,  we've  had  a  family  to  main- 
tain ;  for  Mr.  B's  sisters  were  dependent  on  him.  They 
lived  at  our  house  till  they  were  married.  When  Jemmy 
Mather  courted  Patty,  who  was  the  last,  I  was  heartily 
^lad;  for  you  can't  think  ma'am,  how  disagreeable  it  is 
to  have  many  mistresses  in  a  family.  When  the  wed- 
ding was  fixed,  "  I'm  sure,"  says  I  to  Mr.  B.  "  I'm  glad 
onrt.  The  poor  girl  will  get  a  husband,  at  last,"  says  J, 
^and  that's  what  she's  wanted"  says  I,  «  a  long  time." 
Patty  was  quite  too  fine  a  lady  for  me  5  and  she  greatly 
imposed  upon  her  brother's  good -nature.  She  used  to 
teaze  him  for  tickets  to  the  play  and  the  assemblies, 
One  nigHt  we  made  up  a  party 

Mrs.  L.  Ah,  ma'am,  now  you  talk  of  maiden  sisters, 
what,  I  wonder,  will  become  of  Betsey  Bolus,  if  her  bro- 
ther marries  ?  I  am  told  she's  no  friend  to  the  match. 
The  widow,  I  understand,  made  it  a  condition  with  the 
doctor,  that  Betsey  should  live  some  where  else.  She  is 
quite  of  your  opinion,  that  one  mistress  in  a  family  is 
enough.  And  Betsey,  they  tell  me,  is  a  little  of  the  old 
maid  in  her  temper:  peevish  as  the  duce  ;  always  quar- 
relling with  the  maids.  The  doctor  can't  keep  a"  servant 
more  than  a  month.  The  girl  who  lives  with  me  lived 
with  them  sometime,  and  tells  odd  stories  of  Miss.  Bet- 
sey's peevishness. 

~Mrs.  B.  Odear!  it's  clouded  up,  I  see.  It  looks 
very  like  for  rain.  I  must  run  home  before  it  wets,  or 
I  shall  only  increase  my  cold.  Mr.  B.  made  me  promise 
to  come  home  if  there  was  the  least  sign  of  rain ;  so, 
good  niglit,  ma'am.  Pray  come  over  soon ;  it's  a  long 
time  since  you've  called,  and  I  hope  you'll  come  shortly. 


Good  night. 


Mrs.  L.     La,  ma'am,  what's  your  hurry  ?    Do  stay  a 
little  longer  and  take  tea  :  it's  just  coming  in. 

Mrs.  B.    Can't  indeed  ma'am.    Good  night,  good 


tight. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  2CT 

False  Wit. 

All  fools  have  still  an  itching  to  deride, 
And  fain  would  be  upon  the  laughing  side. 

MONSIEUR  ROCHEFOUOAULT,  tell  us  somewhere  in 
his  memoirs,  that  the  Prince  of  Conde  delighted  much  in 
ridicule,  and  used  frequently  to  shut  himself  up  for  hall 
a  day  together,  in  his  chamber,  with  a  gentleman  \vho 
was  his  favourite,  purposely  to  divert  liimself  with  ex- 
aminingwhat  was  the  foible,  or  ridiculous  side  of  every 
noted  person  in  the  court.— That  gentleman  said  after- 
wards in  some  company,  that  he  thought  nothing  was 
wore  ridiculous  in  any  body,  than  this  same  humour  in 
the  prince ;  and  I  am  somewhat  inclined  to  be  of  this 
opinion.  The  general  tendency  there  is  among  us  to 
this  embelishment,  (which  1  fear  has  too  often  grossly 
imposed  upon  my  loving  countrymen  instead  of  wit,)  and 
the  applause  it  meets  with  from  a  rising  generation,  fill 
me  with  fearful  apprehensions  for  the  future  reputation  of 
my  country :  a  young  man  of  modesty,  (which  is  the  most 
certain  indication  of  large  capacities)  is  hereby  discour- 
aged from  attempting  to  make  any  figure  in  life :  his  ap- 
prehensions of  being  out-laughed,  will  force  lii in  to  con- 
tinue in  a  restless  obscurity,  without  having  an  opportuni- 
ty of  knowing  his  own  merit  himself,  or  discovering  it  to 
the  world,  rather  than  venture  to  expose  himself  in  a 
place,  where  a  pun  or  a  sneer  shall  pass  for  wit,  noise 
for  reason,  and  the  strength  of  the  argument  be  judged  by 
that  of  the  lungs.  Among  those  witty  gentlemen,  let  us 
take  a  view  of  Kidentius :  what  a  contemptible  figure  does 
he  make  with  his  traia  of  paltry  admirers.  This  Might 
shall  give  himself  an  hour's  diversion  with  the  cock  of  a 
man's  hat,  the  heels  of  his  shoes,  an  unguarded  expression 
in  his  discourse,  or  even  some  personal  defect;  and  the 
height  of  his  low  ambition  is  to  put  some  OTIC  of  the  com- 
pany to  the  blush,  who,  perhaps,  must  pay  an  equal  share 
of  the  reckoning  with  himself.  If  such  a  fellow  makes 
laughing  the  sole  end  and  purpose  of  his  life,  if  it  is  ne- 
cessary to  his  constitution,  or  if  he  has  a  great  desire  of 
growing  suddenly  fat,  let  him  eat;  let  him  give  public- 
notice  where  any  dull  stupid  rogues  may  set  a  quart  of 
four-penny  for  being  laughed  at;  but  it  is  barbarously- 
unhandsome,  when  friends  meet  for  the  benfit  of 


SOS  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

sation,  and  a  proper  relaxation  from  business,  that  one 
should  be  the  butt  of  the  company,  and  four  men  made 
merry  at  the  cost  of  the  fifth. 

How  different  from  this  character  is  that  of  the  good- 
natured,  gay  Eugenius  !  who  never  spoke  yet,  but  with 
a  design  to  divert  and  please;  and  who  was  never  yet 
baulked  in  his  intention.  Eugenius  takes  more  delight 
in  applying  the  wit  of  his  friends,  than  in  being  admired 
himself;  and  if  any  one  of  the  company  is  so  unfortunate 
as  to  be  touched  a  little  too  nearly,  he  will  make  use  tif 
some  ingenious  artifice  to  turn  the  edge  of  ridicule  another' 
way,  chusing  rather  to  make  himself  a  public  jest*,  than 
endure  the  pain  of  seeing  his  friend  in  confusion. 

Among  the  tribe  of  laughers,  I  reckon  the  pretty  gen- 
tlemen, who  write  satires,  and  carry  them  about  in  their 
pockets,  reading  them  themselves  in  all  company  they 
nappen  to  be  in ;  taking  an  advantage  of  the  ill  taste  of 
the  town,  to  make  themselves  famous  for  a  pack  of 
paltry,  low  nonsense,  for  which  they  deserve  to  be  kicked 
father  than  admired,  by  all  whoiiave  the  least  tincture 
of  politeness.  These  1  take  to  be  the  most  incorrigible  of 
all  my  readers  ;  nay,  I  expect  they  will  be  squibbing  at 
the  Busy -Body  himself—  However  /the  only  favor  he  begs 
of  them  is  this,  that  if  they  cannot  control  their  overbear- 
ing itch  of  scribbling,  let  him  be  attacked  in  downright 
biting  lyricks;  for  there  is  no  satire  he  dreads  half  so 
much  as  aa  attempt  towards  a  panegyrick. 

Dll.  FRANKLI!'. 


Poiver  of 

How  irresistible  is  the  power  of  conscience!  It  is  t. 
viper  which  twines  itself  round  the  heart,  and  cannot  be 
shook  off.  It  lays  fast  hold  of  us  :  it  lies  down  with  us* 
and  preys  upon  our  vitals.  Hence,  ancient  moralists 
compared  an  evil  conscience  to  a  vulture,  feeding  upon 
the  liver,  and  the  pangs  that  are  felt  by  the  one,  to  the 
throes  of  the  other;  supposing  at  the  same  time,  the  vul- 
ture's hunger  to  be  insatiable^  and  this  entrail  to  be  most 
exquisitely  sensible  of  pain ;  and  to  grow  as  fast  as  it  is 
devoured.  What  can  be  a  stronger  representation  of  thf 


& 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1^69 

most  lingering  and  most  acute  corporeal  pains?  Yet, 
strong  as  it  is,  it  falls  greatly  short  of  the  anguish  of  a 
guilty  conscience.  Imagination,  when  at  rest,  cannot 
conceive  the  horrors  which,  when  troubled,  it  can  excite, 
ur  the  tortures  to  which  it  can  give  birth. 

What  must  have  been  the  state  of  mind  of  Bessus,  a 
native  of  Pelponia,  in  Greece,  when  he  disclosed  the  fol- 
lowing authenticated  fact!  His  neighbours,  seeing  him 
one  day  extremely  anxious  in  pulling  down  some  birds' 
nests,  and  passionately  destroying  their  young,  could 
not  help  taking  notice  of  it,  and"  upbraiding  him  with  his 
ill  nature  and  cruelty  to  poor  creatures,  that  by  nestling 
so  near  him,  seemed  to  court  his  protection  and  hospi- 
tality :  he  replied,  that  their  voice  was  to  him  insupport- 
able, as  they  never  ceased  twitting  him  with  the  murder 
of  his  father. 

This  execrable  villainy,  had  lain  concealed  many 
years,  and  had  never  been  suspected.  In  all  probabil- 
ity it  never  would  have  come  to  light,  had  not  the  aveng- 
ing fury  of  conscience  drawn,  by  these  extraordinary 
means,  a  public  acknowledgment  of  it,  from  the  parri- 
cide's own  mouth. 

Bessus  is  not  the  only  person  that  has  stood  self-con- 
victed.  Though  the  discovery  has  not  been  distinguish- 
ed by  such  a  strange  circumstance,  many  have  made  a 
voluntary  confession,  and  sought  for  a  refuge  from  the 
torments  of  conscience,  in  death.  What  a  lesson  for  all 
meu  to  keep  a  conscience  void  of  offence. 

Dramatic  Censor, 


MISC- ELL ANEOUS  POST  Ji  ¥ 


AMERICAN  HEROES, 

I**  front  firm  Washington  superior  shone, 

His  eye  directed  to  the  half-seen  sun; 

As  through  the  cloud  the  bursting  splendours  glow 

And  light  the  passage  to  the  distant  foe. 

His  waving  steel  returns  the  living  day. 

And  points,  through  unfought  fields,  tnc  warrior's  way  ^ 

His  valourous  deeds  to  be  confined  no  more, 

Monongahela  to  thy  desert  shore. 

Matured  with  years,  with  nobler  glory  warm, 

Fate  in  his  eye,  and  empire  on  his  arm, 

He  feels  his  sword  the  strength  of  nations  wield? 

And  moves  before  them  with  a  broader  shield. 

Greene  rose  beside  him,  emulous  in  arms, 

His  genius  brightening  as  the  danger  warms, 

In  counsel  great,  in  every  science  skilled, 

Pride  of  the  camp,  and  terror  of  the  field. 

With  eager  look,  conspicuous  o?er  the  crowd, 

And  port  majestic,  brave  Montgomery  strode, 

Bared  his  tried  blade,  with  honour's  call  elate, 

Claim'd  the  first  field,  and  hastened  to  his  fate. 

Lincoln,  with  force  unfolding  as  he  rose, 

Scoped  the  whole  war,  and  measured  well  the  foes  9 

Calm,  cautious,  firm,  for  frugal  counsels  known, 

Frugal  of  others'  blood,  but  liberal  of  his  own, 


212  REPUBLICAN  COMPILEIl. 

Heath  for  impending  toil  his  falchion  draws, 
And  fearless  Wooster  aids  the  sacred  cause  $ 
Mercer  advanced  an  early  death  to  prove, 
Sinclair  and  Mifflin  swift  to  combat  move; 
Here  stood  stern  Putnam,  scord  with  ancient  scars^ 
The  living  records  of  his  country's  wars; 
"Wayne  like  a  moving  tower  assumes  his  post, 
Fires  the  whole  field,  and  is  himself  a  host; 
Undaunted  Stirling,  prompt  to  meet  his  foes. 
And  Gates  and  Sullivan  for  action  rose ; 
Macdougal,  Clinton,  guardians  of  the  state 
Stretch  the  nerv'd  arm  to  pierce  the  depth  of  fate ; 
Marion  with  rapture  seiz'd  the  sword  of  fame, 
Young  Laurens  grac'd  a  father's  patriot  name ; 
Moultrie  and  Sumpter  lead  their  banded  powers, 
Morgan  in  front  of  his  bold  riflers'  towers ; 
His  host  of  keen-ey'd  marksmen  skill'd  to  pour 
Their  slugs  unerring  from  the  twisted  bore. 
]S(o  sword,  no  bayonet  they  learn  to  wield, 
They  gall  the  flank,  thev  skirt  the  battl'ing  field, 
Cull  out  the  distant  foe  in  full  horse  speed, 
Couch  the  long  tube  and  eye  the  silver  bead, 
Turn  as  he  turns,  dismiss  the  whizzing  lead, 
And  lodge  the  death  ball  in  his  heedless  head. 


Eulogy  on  Laughing. 

Delivered  at  an  Exhibition  by  a  Young  Lady. 

LIKE  merry  Momus,  while  the  Gods  were  quailing, 

I  come — to  give  an  eulogy  on  laughing ! 

True,  courtly  Chesterfield,  with  critic  zeal, 

Asserts  that  laughing's  vastly  ungenteel ! 

The  boist'rous  shake,  lie  says,  distorts  fine  faces* 

And  robs  each  pretty  feature  of  the  graces! 

But  yet  this  paragon  of  perfect  taste, 

On  other  topics  was  not  over  cJiaste  ; 

He  like  the  Pharisees  in  this  appears, 

They  ruin'd  widows,  but  they  made  long  prayers. 

Tithe,  anise,  mint,  they  zealously  affected  : 

But  the  law's  weightier  matters  lay  neglected; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY, 

And  while  an  insect  strains  their  squeamish  caul, 

Down  goes  a  monstrous  camel — bunch  and  all ' 

Yet  others,  quite  as  sage,  with  warmth  dispute 

Man's  risibles  distinguish  him  from  brute ; 

While  instinct,  reason,  both  in  common  own, 

To  laugh  is  man's  prerogative  alone! 

Hail  rosy  laughter !  thou  deserv'dst  the  bays ! 

Come  with  thy  dimples,  animate  these  lays, 

Whilst  universal  peals  attest  thy  praise, 

Daughter  of  joy  !  thro'  thee  we  health  attain, 

The  Esculapian  recipes  are  vain. 

Let  sentimentalists  ring  in  our  ears 

The  tender  joy  of  grief — the  luxury  of  tears— 

Keraclitus  may  whine — and  oh !  and  ah  !-— 

I  like  an  honest,  hearty,  ha,  hah,  hah  ! 

It  makes  the  wheels  of  nature  gliblier  play ; 

Dull  care  suppresses ;  smooths  life's  thorny  way  ; 

Propels  the  dancing  current  through  each  vein;  T 

Braces  the  nerves;  corroborates  the  brain; 

Shakes  ev'ry  muscle,  and  throws  of  the  spleen.  J 

Old  Homer  makes  yon  tenants  of  the  skies, 

His  Gods,  love  laughing  as  they  did  their  eyes ! 

It  kept  in  them  good  humour,  hushed  their  squabbless 

As  fro  ward  children  are  appeas'd  by  baubles ; 

Kv'n  Jove,  the  thund'rer,  dearly  lov'd  a  laugh. 

When  of  fine  nectar  he  had  taken  a  quaflT! 

It  helps  digestion  when  the  feast  runs  high, 

And  dissipates  the  fumes  of  potent  Burgundy. 

But,  in  the  main,  tlio'  laughing  I  approve. 

It  is  not  ev'ry  kind  of  laugh  I  love  5 

For  many  laughs  e'en  candour  must  condemn! 

vSome  arc  too  full  of  acid,  some  of  phlegm  ; 

The  loud  horse  laugh  (improperly  so  stil'd,) 

The  idiot  pimper,  like  the  slumbering  child, 

Th'  affected  laugh,  to  show  a  dimpled  chin, 

The  sneer  contemptuous,  and  broad  vacant  griit, 

Are  despicable  all  as  Strephon's  smile, 

To  show  his  ivory  legions,  rank  and  file. 

The  honest  laugh,  unstudied,  uriacquir'd. 

By  nature  prompted,  and  true  wit  inspird ; 

Such  as  Quin  felt,  and  Fallstaff  knew  before. 

When  humour  set  the  table  in  a  roar ; 

Alone  deserves  th'  applauding  muse's  grace: 

Vhe  rest — is  all  contortion  and  griraace. 


214  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER., 

But  you  exclaim  "  Your  Eulogy's  too  dry; 

"  Leave  dissertation  and  exemplify  I 

"  Prove  by  experiment,  vour  maxims  true ; 

<•  And  what  you  praise  so  highly,  make  us.  do." 

In  truth,  I  hop'd  this  was  already  done, 

And  Mirth  and  Momus  had  the  laurel  won ! 

Like  honest  Hodge,  unhappy  should  I  fail, 

Who  to  a  crowded  audience  told  his  tale, 

And  laugh'd  and  sniggerd  all  the  while  himself 

To  grace  the  story,  as  he  thought,  poor  elf! 

But  not  a  single  soul  his  suffrage  gave — 

While  each  long  phiz  was  serious  as  the  grave ! 

Laugh!  laugh!  cries  Hodge,  laugh  loud,  (no  halting,} 

I  thought  you  all,  ere  this,  would  die  with  laughing ! 

This  did  the  feat;  for,  tickled  at  the  whim, 

A  burst  of  laughter,  like  the  electric  beam, 

Shook  all  the  audience — but  it  was  at  him  ! 

Like  Hodge,  should  ev'ry  stratagem  and  wile 

Thro'  my  long  story  not  excite  a  smile, 

I'll  bear  it  with  becoming  modesty; 

But  should  my  feeble  efforts  move  your  glee, 

Laugh  if  you  fairly  can— but  not  at  ME  ! 

" 


First  J&nerican  Congress. 

COLUMBUS  look'd ;  and  still  around  them  spread 

From  south  to  north  the  immeasurable  shade ; 

At  last  the  central  darkness  burst  away, 

And  rising  regions  open'd  on  the  day. 

Once  more  bright  Delaware's  commercial  stream 

And  Penn's  throng'd  city  cast  a  cheerful  gleam  5 

The  dome  of  state  as  conscious  of  his  eye. 

Now  seem'd  to  silver  in  a  loftier  sky. 

Unfolding  fair  its  gates;  when  lo,  within 

The  assembled  states  in  solemn  Congress  shine. 

The  sires  elect  from  every  province  came, 

Where  wide  Columbia  bore  the  British  name, 

Where  Freedom's  sons  their  high-born  lineage  trac(% 

And  home-bred  bravery  still  exalts  the  race : 

Her  sons  who  plant  each  various  vast  domain 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.          t  SI* 

That  Che&apeak's  uncounted  currents  drain ; 

The  race  who  Roanoke's  clear  stream  bestride, 

Who  fell  the  fir  on  Apalachia's  side, 

To  Albemarle's  wide  wave  who-  trust  their  store. 

Who  deck  proud  Pamlico's  unstable  shore, 

Whose  groaning  barks  overload  the  long  Santee, 

Wind  through  the  realms  and  labour  to  the  sea, 

fTheir  cumbrous  cargoes  to  the  sail  consign'd 

Seek  distant  worlds  and  feed  and  clothe  mankind  :) 

The  race  whose  rice  fields  suck  Savanna's  urn, 

Whose  verdant  vines  Oconee's  banks  adorn 

Who  freight  the  Delaware  with  golden  grain, 

Who  tame  their  steeds  on  Monmouth's  flowery  plain, 

From  huge  Tocannok's  hills  who  drag  their  ore, 

And  sledge  their  corn  to  Hudson's  quay -built  shore. 

Who  keel  Connecticut's  long  meadowy  tide, 

With  patient  plow  his  fallow  plains  divide, 

Spread  their  white  flocks  o'er  Narraganset's  vale 

Or  chase  to  each  chill  pole  the  monstrous  whale ; 

Whose  venturous  prows  have  borne  their  fame  afar, 

Tamed  all  the  seas  and  steerM  by  every  star, 

Dispensed  to  earth's  whole  habitants  there  store 

And  with  their  biting  flukes  have  harrow'd  every  shore. 

The  venturous  delegates  behold  with  pain 

The  hostile  Britons  hovering  o'er  the  main, 

Lament  the  strife  that  bids  two  worlds  engage, 

And  blast  their  annals  with  fraternal  rage ; 

Two  worlds  in  one  broad  state  !  whose  bounds  bestride, 

Like  heaven's  blue  arch  the  vast  Atlantic  tide, 

By  language,  lav/s  and  liberty  combined, 

Great  nurse  of  thought,  example  to  mankind. 

Columbia  rears  her  warning  voice  in  vain, 

Brothers  to  brothers  call  across  the  main; 

Britannia's  patriots  lend  a  listening  ear, 

But  kings  and  courtiers  push  their  mad  career; 

Dissension  raves,  the  sheathless  falchions  glare, 

And  earth  and  ocean  tremble  at  the  war. 

Thus  with  stern  brow,  as  worn  by  cares  of  state3 

His  bo&om  big  with  dark  unfolding  fate, 

High  o'er  his  lance  the  sacred  Eagle  spread, 

And  eartli's  whole  crown  still  resting  on  his  head? 

Rome's  hoary  Genius  rose  and  mournful  stood 

On  roaring  Rubicon's  forbidden  flood, 

When  Csesar's  ensigns  swept  the  Alpine  air, 


21$  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER 

Led  their  long  legions  from  the  Gallic  war, 
Paused  on  the  opposing  bank  with  wings  unfurPti, 
And  warred  portentous  o'er  the  shuddering  world. 
The  god  with  outstretcht  arm  and  awful  look, 
Cali'd  the  proud  victor  and  prophetic  spoke> 
Arrest,  my  son,  thy  parricidious  fate, 
Pass  not  the  stream  nor  stab  my  filial  state, 
Stab  not  thyself,  thy  friends,  thy  total  kind 
And  worlds  and  ages  in  one  state  combined. 
The  chief,  regardless  of  the  warning  god, 
Kein'd  his  rude  steed  and  headlong  past  the  flood, 
Cried,  farewell  Peace!  took  Fortune  for  his  guide, 
,And  o'er  his  country  poured  the  slaughtering  tide. 

Columbia^. 


To  ike  Memory  o$  Baron  Trench , 

HAIL  injured  Shade  !  who  nobly  did'st  despise 

The  utmost  malice  fortune  couid  devise ! 

Enur'd  to  bear  variety  of  pain, 

A  dungeon's  horrors,  and  a  tyrant's  chain ! 

What  eye  thy  mighty  sufferings  can  peruse 

Nor  tears  of  sympathy  that  eye  suffuse, 

Ponder  the  cruel  wrongs  thou  did'st  sustain, 

Nor  indignation  boil  in  ev'ry  vein? 

Thy  dauntless  valour  contemplate,  thy  zeal, 

And  not  accumulated  courage  feel  ? 

Thy  manly,  god-like  fortitude  behold, 

And  from  those  brows  the  martyr's  crown  withhold  ? 

Thy  candour,  justice,  moderation,  scan, 

Nor  glory  in  the  dignity  of  man  ? 

As  I  revolve  thy  various  turns  of  fate, 

What  struggling  passions  in  this  breast  debate  ? 

Love,  pity,  indignation,  take  their  turn, 

Then  horror,  and  vindictive  vengeance  burn 

What  coward  vengeance  in  thy  foes  ?  in  thee 

What  unexampled  magnanimity'? 

Ye  who  another's  agonies  have  felt! 

Whom  rage  can  redden,  or  compassion  melt! 

See  the  brave  vet'ran  drag  his  dungeon-chain, 

The  blood  fast  trickling  from  each  spouting  vein ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY, 

I  feel  life's  current  from  its  channels  swerve, 

While  keen  vibrations  rack  each  tortur'd  nerv- 

Exalted  suflPrer !  thou  shalt  charm  a  world, 

When  thrones  and  sceptres,  are  in  ruins  hurl'd. 

And  their  proud  owners,  moulder'd  and  forgot. 

They  and  their  hated  memories  shall  rot. 

From  thee  shall  suff'ring  virtue  feel  new  springs. 

Rise  with  recruited  strength  and  prime  her  wings. 

And  vice,  abash'd  beneath  thy  potent  spell, 

Sink  down  a  (frighted  to  her  native  hell. 

Thy  memorable  annals  leave  behind 

An  everlasting  lesson  to  mankind, 

To  place  no  confidence  on  states  or  kings. 

Nor  trust  the  shadow  of  a  tyrant's  wings. 

The  pageantry  of  courts,  each  fool  and  knave, 

The  cruel  despot,  and  the  cringing  slave  ; 

The  judge  suborn'd,  tlr  ungrateful,  treach'rous  friend, 

The  fawning  sycophant,  the  subtle  fiend  ; 

The  lurking  spy,  each  harpy  of  the  gown, 

The  vengeful  levite  and  the  rev'rend  drone  ; 

Touch'd  by  thy  pen  as  by  Itheurii's  spear — 

In  all  their  vile  deformity  appear 

Thee  youth  shall  study,  lir'd  with  thoughts  sublime, 

And  the  steep  paths  of  honour  dauntless  climb. 

The  cheerless  captive  learn  from  thee  to  bear, 

And,  hVd  by  thy  example,  scorn  despair. 

Thy  race,  the  guardian  care  of  Providence, 

Shall  live  respected,  crown'd  with  innocence  ; 

And  those  just  rights  proud  despots  thee  deny'd, 

With  sev'e  n-fold  honours  be  by  them  enjoy 'd  : 

To  teach  base  miscreants  Virtue's  not  mere  name, 

But  surest  passport  to  immortal  fame. 

Now  PRUSSIA'S  DKSPOT,  crouching  at  thy  feet. 

Beholds  thee  thron'd  in  some  distinguisli'd  seat. 

And  ROBESPIKRE,  to  make  thy  ghost  amends. 

Howls  in  the  lowest  dungeon  of  the  fiends, 

Whilst  thou  in  peace,  no  tyrant  to  annoy, 

With  blooming  Hebe  quaff 'st  perpetual  joy. 

And  some  illustrious  bard  of  future  days/  1 

Fir'd  by  thy  mighty  name  shall  tune  the  lays,  L 

And  grow  immortal  in  thy  deathless  praise".  J 

SB  WALL, 
T 


21$  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Epilogue  to  the  Tragedy  of  Catu. 

Written  in  1778. 

You  sec  mankind  the  same  in  ev'ry  age : 

Heroic  fortitude,  tyrannic  rage, 

Boundless  ambition,  patriotic  truth, 

And  hoary  treason,  and  untainted  youth, 

Have  deeply  mark'd  all  periods  and  all  climes : 

The  noblest  virtues,  and  the  blackest  crimes ! 

Britannia's  daring  sins,  and  virtues  both, 

Perhaps  once  mark'd  the  Vandal  and  the  Goth, 

And  what  now  gleams  with  dawning  ray  at  home, 

Once  blaz/d  in  full  orb'd  majesty  at  ROME. 

Did  Caesar,  drunk  with  pow'r,  and  madly  brave, 

Insatiate  burn,  his  country  to  enslave  ? 

Did  he  for  this,  lead  forth"  a  servile  host, 

\nd  spill  the  choicest  blood  that  Rome  could  boast? 

Our  British  Csesar  too  has  done  the  same, 

And  damn'd  this  age  to  everlasting  flame. 

Columbia's  crimson'd  fields  still*  smoke  with  gore  ! 

Her  bravest  herpes  cover  all  the  shore ! 

The  fiow'r  of  Britain  too  in  martial  bloom, 

In  one  sad  year  sent  headlong  to  the  tomb ! 

Did  Rome's  brave  senate  nobly  strive  t'  oppose, 

The  mighty  torrent  of  domestic  foes? 

And  boldly  arm  the  virtuous  few,  and  dare 

The  desp'rate  perils  of  unequal  war? 

Our  senate  too,  the  same  bold  deed  has  done, 

And  for  a  CATO,  arm'd  a  WASHINGTON  ! 

A  chief  in  all  the  ways  of  battle  skill'd, 

Great  in  the  council,  glorious  in  the  field  !    r 

Thy  scourge, O  Britain  !  and  Columbia's  boast, 

The  dread,  and  admiration  of  each  host ! 

Whose  martial  arm,  and  steady  soul,  alone  1 

Have  made  thy  legions  quake,  thy  empire  groan,        .  X 

And  thy  proud  monarch  tremble  cm  his  throne.  J 

What  now  thou  art.  oh  !  ever  may'st  thou  be, 

And  death  the  lot  of  any  chief  but  thee  ! 

We've  had  our  DECIUS  too,  and  HOWE  can  say 

Health,  pardon,  peace,  GEORGE  sends  America  ! 

Yet  brings  destruction  for  the  olive-wreath. 

For  health  contagion,  and  for  pardon  death. 

Jn  brave  FAYETTE  young  JUBA  lives  again, 

And  many  a  MAHCUS  bleeds  on  yonder  plain. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

Like  POMPEY,  WARREN  fell  in  martial  pride. 

And  great  MONTGOMERY  like  SCIPIO  died  ! 

In  GREENE,  the  hero,  patriot,  sage  we  see, 

And  Lucius,  JUBA,  CATO,  shine  in  thee ! 

When  Rome  received  her  last  decisive  blow, 

Had'st  thou,  immortal  GATES,  been  Csesar  s  foe, 

All-perfect  discipline  had  check'd  his  sway. 

And  thy  superior  conduct  won  the  day. 

Freedom  had  triumph 'd  on  Pharsalian  ground, 

Nor  Saratoga's  heights  been  more  renown'd  ! 

Long  as  heroic  deeds  the  soul  enflame,  "} 

Eternal  praise  bold  STARK  will  ever  claim, 

Who  led  thy  glorious  way,  and  gave  thee  half  thy  fran°.  < 

See  persevering  A proudly  scale 

Canadia's  alpine  hills,  a  second  HANNIBAL. 
In  Csesar's  days  had  such  a  daring  mind 
With  WASHINGTON'S  serenity  been  joln'd, 
The  tyrant  then  had  bled,  great  Cato  KvM, 
And  Rome  in  all  her  majesty  surviv'd. 
What  praise,  what  gratitude  are  due  to  thee, 
Oh  brave,  experienced,  all-accomplish'd  LEE  ! 
The  sword,  the  pen  thou  dost  alternate  wield, 
Nor  JULIUS'  self,  to  thee  would  blush  to  yield. 
And  while  SEMPRONIUS-  "  bellowings  stun  the  car. 

I  see  the  traitor  C ?  his  thunders  hear. 

But  all  was  false,  and  hollow,  tho'  his  tongue 

Propt  manna,"  with  the  garb  of  reason  hung. 

Ere  long  the  wily  SYPHAX  may  advance, 

And  AFRIC  faith  be  verify'd  in  FRANCE, 

How  long,  deluded  by  that  faithless  pov/T* 

Will  ye  dream  on,  nor  seize  the  golden  hour  ? 

In  vain  do  ye  rely  on  foreign  aid, 

By  her  own  arm  and  heav'n's  Columbia  must  be  froed- 

Rise  then,  my  countrymen  !  for  fight  prepare, 

Gird  on  your  swords,  and  fearless  rush  to  war  ! 

For  your  griev'd  country  nobly  dare  to  die, 

And  empty  all  your  veins  for  LIBERTY, 

No  pent-up  Utica  contracts  your  pow'rs, 

But  the  whole  boundless  continent  is  yours ! 

"  Rouse  up,  for  shame  !  your  brethren  slain  in  war, 

«  Or  groaning  now  in  ignominious  bondage, 

"  Point  at  their  wounds  and  chains,  and  cry  aloud 

"  To  battle  !  WASHINGTON  impatient  mourns 

"  His  scanty  legions  and  demands  your  aid. 


220  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER 

"  Intrepid  LEE  still  clanks  his  galling  fetters  ! 

"  MONTGOMERY  complains  that  we  are  slow  ! 

"  And  ^YAIl!I^EN's  ghost  stalks  unreven<j'd  among  us!" 

SEWALL, 


On  the  gloomy  prospects  of  1 776 ; 

Written  with  allusion  to  part  of  the  II  th  chapter  of  Job, 

C.VNST  thou,  by  searching  the  OMNISCIENT  find  ? 

Or  to  perfection  scan  the  ETFRNAL  MJNI>? 

Vain  aim  !  its  height  the  heav'n  of  heav'ns  transcends, 

Deeper  than  hell,  the  urifathom'd  line  descends ! 

'Tis  longer  than  the  earth's  unmeasured  plain, 

And  broader  than  th9  illimitable  maine. 

If  HE  in  wrath,  shut  up  a  guilty  land, 

Or  fierce  consume  them  with  his  red  right  hand  : 

Humbled  in  dust  beneath  almighty  power, 

Trembling  they  groan,  bow  prostrate,  and  adore  : 

Then,  touched  with  pity,  he  their  prayer  receives, 

Kepents  him  of  the  evil,  and  forgives*. 

Thus  oft  doth  GOD — what  powrr  can  stay  his  hand* 

Who  Iris  fix'd  counsels  question  or  withstand  ? 

He  knows  vain  man !  no  thought  escapes  his  eye?, 

And  canst  thou  stand  if  wrath  eternal  rise? 

Yet  dares  proud  dust  presumptuously  revolt, 

To  folly  born,  like  the  wild  ass's  colt. 

Oh,  then  learn  wisdom,  much-enduring  land  ! 

Implore  thy  GOD  to  stay  his  wasting  hand  ? 

Herll  not  be  deaf,  if  humbly  thou  prepare 

Thine  heart,  and  stretch  thine  hands  in  fervent  prayer^ 

If  in  them  v/rath  or  wickedness  be  found, 

If  pride,  extortion,  violence,  abound, 

Far,  far  remove  them,  let  no  guilty  stain. 

The  tabernacle  of  thy  GOD  profane.  « 

To  him  with  filial  confidence  repair, 

He'll  lift  thee  up,  nor  suffer  thee  to  fear. 

Thy  mis'rics  shall  be  all  forgot,  or  seem 

Lilte  gliding  waters,  or  an  empty  dream. 

Then  shall  thy  light  be  as  the  morning  ray, 

Thine  age  more  glorious  than  meridian  day. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

Cenfirm'd  by  hope,  thy  terrors  all  shall  cease, 
And  'midst  contending  worlds  thou  shalt  have 
Thy  sons,  reposing  in  Almighty  aid, 
Shall  dwell  securely,  none  to  make  afraid. 
Before  thee  BRITAIN  shall  abash'd  retire, 
And  mightiest  nations  deprecate  thine  ire ; 
Thy  favour  court,  from  thy  just  vengeance  flee, 
And  for  their  great  example,  copy  thee. 
Resembling  in  their  morals,  laws,  police, 
The  glorious  Kingdom  of  the  PRINCE  or  PEACE 
Then  faith  shall  triumph,  envy  rage  in  vain, 
Oppression  tremble,  slavery  drop  her  chain, 
To  law  proud  rapine,  fraud  to  justice  yield. 
Fierce  discord  raging,  bathe  no  more  the  field  ; 
But  perfect  love,  joy,  harmony  and  peace, 
Crown  thy  millenium  with  transcendent  blis-s. 


The.  Force  of  Nature. 

TWAS  on  a  cliff,  whose  rocky  base 

Baffled  the  briny  wave, 
Whose  cultured  heights  their  verdant 

To  many  a  tenant  gave ; 
A  mother,  led  by  rustic  cares, 

Had  wandered  with  her  child, 
Unwean'd  the  babe :  yet  on  the  grass 

He  frolick'd  and  he  smil'd. 
With  what  delight  the  mother  glow'd 

To  mark  her  infant  joy, 
How  oft  would  pause,  amid  her  toil. 

To  view  her  beauteous  boy. 
At  length,  by  other  cares  estrang'd, 

Her  thoughts  the  child  forsook, 
Careless,  he  wandered  o'er  the  grass? 

Nor  drew  his  mother's  look. 
Cropt  was  each  flower  that  caught  his  eye; 

When  wandering  o'er  the  green  ; 
He  sought  the  cliff's  uncertain  edge, 

And  pleas'd^  survey'd  the  scene. 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILED 

'Twas  then,  the  mother  from  her  toil 

Turn'd  to  behold  her  child — 
The  Urchin  gone !  her  cheek  was  flush?J% 

Her  wandering  eye  was  wild. 
She  saw  him  on  the  cliff's  rude  brink 

Now  careless  peeping  o,er, 
He  turn'd,  and  on  his  mother  smil'd, 

Then  sported  as  before. 
Sunk  was  her  voice,  'twas  vain  to  flyv 

'Twas  vain  the  brink  to  brave  5 
Oh  Nature  !  it  was  thine  alone 

To  prompt  the  means  to  save  5 
She  tore  the  'kerchief  from  her  breast, 

And  laid  her  bosom  bare : 
He  saw,  delighted,  left  the  cliff, 

And  sought  the  banquet  there. 

Freemason's  Ma 


Star-Light — An  Elegy, 

Now  night  serene,  and  solemn  silence  reign  j 
The  stars"  dim  twinkling,  shed  a  dubious  light 
On  the  smooth  bosom  of  the  swelling  main, 
And  give  its  billows  faintly  to  the  sight. 
""The  barque  light-bounding,  cuts  the  silver  wave, 
As  the  stern  sailor  plies  the  bending  oar; 
Sweet  Echo  leaves  her  solitary  cave, 
And  murm'ring  winds  along  the  pebbled  shore  c 
While  from  the  east  a  gentle  evening  breeze, 
Wafting  the  fragrance  of  the  varied  year, 
Wild  and  melodious,  through  the  sighing  trees, 
Breaks,  in  soft  whispers,  on  the  charmed  ear. 
No  jarring  sound  the  tranquil  hour  alarms  5 
No  clash  of  elements  the  mind  assails  5 
No  brazen  irumpet  harshly  brays  to  arms, 
Nor  widow'd  fair,  ker  murder'd  love  bewails. 
All  Nature,  lull'd  in  solemn  stillness,  seems 
To  cheer  the  mind  which  care  and  grief  oppress? 
Mild  and  beneficent,  Hope's  star-light  beams 
Seen  streaming  forth,  to  soothe  the  soul's  distress 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

Ah !  what  have  I  with  scenes  like  this  to  do! 
No  placid  calm  my  troubled  bosom  feels; 
Me,  rude  Misfortune's  eager  fiends  pursue^ 
No  hope  one  scene  of  future  joy  reveals, 
To  me  more  dear  the  wildly- wasting  storm 
Howls  dreadful  5  and  the  whirlwind's  sullen  roar, 
Swelling  with  rage,  each  beauty  to  deform, 
And  earth  to  chaos  once  again  restore. 
Ah  !  why  forever  in  my  heart  must  reign 
Utynumber'd  cares,  which  time  will  ne'er  assuage  ? 
Why  must  I  find  no  short  recess  of  pain, 
Nor  joy  one  moment,  all  my  soul  engage  ? 
O  thou,  whose  power  the  raging  tempest  sways, 
Whose  will  alike  the  troubled  mind  can  calm; 
Deign  hence  to  drive  Despair's  dull  lurid  blaze, 
And  o'er  my  soul  to  shed  Religion's  holy  balm. 

Port  Folio- 


Paper — A  Poem. 

SOME  wit  of  old— such  wits  of  old  there  were — 
Whose  hints  show'd  meaning,  whose  allusions,  care> 
By  one  brave  stroke  to  mark  all  human  kind, 
Call'd  clear  blank  paper  every  infant  mind ; 
When  still,  as  opening  sense  her  dictates' wrote} 
Fair  virtue  put  a  seal,  or  vice  a  blot. 

The  thought  was  happy,  pertinent,  and  true^ 
Methinks  a  genius  might  the  plan  pursue. 
I,  (can  you  pardon  my  presumption  r)  I, 
No  wit,  no  genius,  yet  for  once  will  try. 

Various  the  papers,  various  wants  produce, 
The  wants  of  fashion,  elegance,  and  use. 
Men  are  as  various  ~   and,  if  right  I  scan, 
Each  sort  of  paper  represents  some  man. 

Pray  note  the  fop ;  half  powder  and  half  lace  $ 
Nice,  as  a  band-box  were  his  dwelling-place ; 
He's  the  gilt  paper,  which  apart  you  store, 
And  lock  from  vulgar  bauds  in  the  scr 


224  REPUBLICAN  COMPILED 

Mechanics,  servants,  farmers,  and  so  forth. 
Are  copy  paper  of  inferior  worth ; 
Less  priz'd,  more  useful,  for  your  desk  decreed; 
Free  to  all  pens,  and  prompt  at  ev'ry  need. 

The  wretch,  whom  av'rice  bids  to  pinch  and  sparer 
Starve,  cheat  and  pilfer,  to  enrich  an  heir, 
Is  coarse  brown  paper,  such  as  pedlars  choose 
To  wrap  up  wares,  which  better  men  will  use,- 

Take  next  the  miser's  contrast,  who  destroys 
Health,  fame,  and  fortune,  in  a  round  of  joys. 
Will  any  paper  match  him  ?  Yes,  throughout, 
He's  a  true  sinking  paper,  past  all  doubt. 

The  retail  politician's  anxious  thought 

Deems  this  side  always  right  and  that  stark  naught; 

He  foams  with  censure ;  with  applause  he  raves, 

A  dupe  to  rumours,  and  a  tool  of  knaves ; 

He'll  want  no  type  his  weakness  to  proclaim^ 

While  such  a  tiling  as  fools-cap  has  a  name. 

The  hasty  gentleman,  whose  blood  runs  high? 
Who  picks  a  quarrel  if  you  step  awry, 
Who  can't  a  jest,  or  hint,  or  look  endure :     . 
What's  he  ?'  What  ?  Touch-paper  to  be  sure;* 

What  are  our  poets,  take  them  as  they  fall, 
Good,  bad,  rich,  poor,  much  read,  not  read  at  all  ? 
Them  and  their  works  in  the  same  class  you'll  find ; 
They  are  the  mere  waste-paper  of  mankind* 

Observe  the  maiden,  innocently  sweet, 
She's  fair  white  paper ',  an  unsullied  sheet; 
On  which  the  happy  man,  whom  fate  ordains, 
May  write  his  name,  and  take  her  for  his  pains* 

One  instance  more,  and  only  one  I'll  bring ; 

5Tis  the  great  man  who  scorns  a  little  thing ; 

Whose  thoughts,  whose  deeds,  whose  maxims  are  his  owfc; 

Form'd  on  the  feelings  of  his  heart  alone  : 

True  genuine  royal  paper  is  his  breast; 

Of  all  the  kinds;  most  precious,  purest,  best. 

DE, 


MISCELLANEOUS  P0ETRY. 
Power  of  Music. 

SUMMER'S  dun  cloud,  that,  slowly  rising,  holds 
The  sweeping  tempest  in  its  rushing  folds, 
Though  o'er  the  ridges  of  its  thundering  breast, 
The  King  of  Terrors  lifts  his  lightning  crest ; 
Pleas'd  we  behold  when,  those  dark  folds  we  find 
Fring'd  with  the  golden  light,  that  glows  behind. 
So  when  one  language  bound  the  I  mm  an  race, 
Oa  Shinar's  plain,  round  Babel's  mighty  base, 
Gloomily  rose  the  minister  of  wrath; 
Dark  was  his  form,  destructive  was  his  path; 
That  tower  was  blasted,  by  the  touch  of  Heaven  ; 
That  bond  was  burst — that  race  asunder  driven  : 
Yet  round  the  Avenger's  brow,  that  frown'd  above. 
PlayM  Mercy's  beams — the  lambent  lights  of  love. 
All  was  not  lest,  though  busy  Discord  nung 
Repulsive  accents,  from  each  jarring  tongue; 
All  was  not  lost;  for  Love  one  tie  had  twin'd 
And  Mercy  dropt  it,  to  connect  mankind  : 
One  tie,  that  winds,  with  soft  and  sweet  control, 
Its  silken  fibres  round  the  yielding  scul; 
Binds  man  to  man,  sooths  Passion's  \vildest  strife? 
And,  through  the  mazy  labyrinths  of  life, 
Supplies  a  faithful  clue,  to  lead  the  lone 
And  weary  wanderer,  to  his  Father's  throne. 
That  tie  is  Music.     How  supreme  her  sway  ! 
How  lovely  is  the  Power,  that  all  obey  ! 
3)umb  matter  trembles  at  her  thrilling  shock  ; 
Her  voice  is  echoed  by  the  desert  rock ; 
For  her,  the  asp  withholds  the  sting  of  death, 
And  bares  his  fangs,  but  to  inhale  her  breath  ; 
The  lordly  lion  leaves  his  lonely  lair, 
And  crouching,  listens  when  she  treads  the  air; 
And  man,  by  wilder  impulse  driven  to  ill, 
Is  tamed,  and  led  by  this  Enchantress  still. 
Who  ne'er  has  feltYier  hand  assuasive  steal 
Along  his  heart. — That  heart  will  never  feel. 
'Tis  her's  to  chain  the  passions,  sooth  the  soul, 
To  snatch  the  dagger,  and  to  dash  the  bowl 
From  Murder's  hand  ;  to  smooth  the  couch  of  Care, 
Extract  the  thorns,  and  scatter  roses  there ; 
Of  Pain's  hot  brow,  to  still  the  bounding  throb, 
Despairs  long  sigh  and  Grief's  convulsive  sob- 


226  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

How  vast  her  empire!  Turn  through  earth,  through  air, 

Your  aching  eye,  you  find  her  subjects  there  ; 

Nor  is  the  throne  of  heaven  above  her  spell, 

Nor  yet  beneath  it  is  the  host  of  hell. 

To  her  Religion  owes  her  holiest  flame : 

Her  eye  looks  heaven-ward,  for  from  heaven  she  came 

And  when  Religion's  mild  and  genial  ray, 

Around  the  frozen  heart  begins  to  play,, 

Music's  soft  breath  falls  on  the  quivering  light ; 

The  fire  is  kindled,  and  the  flame  is  bright ; 

And  that  cold  mass,  by  either  power  assail'd, 

Is  wann'd — made  liquid — and  to  heaven  exhaPd. 

cf  Palestine. 


Sacred  Music  at  Midnight'* 

*Tis  night  again  :  for  Music  loves  to  steal 

Abroad  at  night;  when  all  her  subjects  kneel 

In  more  profound  devotion  at  her  throne  : 

And,  at  that  sable  hour,  sh'li  sit  alone, 

Upon  a  bank,  by  her  sequestered  cell, 

And  breathe  her  sorrows  through  her  wreathed  shell  * 

Again  'tis  night — the  diamond  lights  on  high, 

Burn  bright,  and  dance  harmonious  through  the  sky; 

And  silence  leads  her  downy  footed  hours, 

Hound  Sion's  hill  and  Salem's  holy  towers. 

The  Lord  of  Life  with  his  few  faithful  friends, 

DrownM  in  mute  sorrow,  down  that  hill  descends. 

They  cross  the  stream  that  bathes  its  foot,  and  dashes 

Around  the  tomb,  where  sleep  a  monarch's  ashes  ; 

And  climb  the  steep,  where  oft  the  midnight  air 

Received  the  sufferer's  solitary  prayer. 

There,  in  dark  bowers  embosomed,  Jesus  flings 

His  hand  celestial  o'er  prophetic  strings  ; 

Displays  his  purple  robe,  his  bosom  gory, 

His  crown  of  thorns,  his  cross,  his  future  glory ; 

And,  while  the  group,  each  hallowed  accent  gleaning, 

On  pilgrim's  start*,  in  pensive  posture  leaning, 

Their  reverend  beards,  that  sweep  their  bosoms,  wet 

With  the  chill  dews  of  shady  Olivet— 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  227 

Wonder  and  weep,  they  pour  the  song  of  sorrow, 
With  their  lov'd  Lorcf,  whose  death  shall   shroud   the 

morrow. 

Heavens  !  what  a  strain  was  that !  those  matchless  tones, 
That  ravish  "  Princedoms,  Dominations,  Thrones ;" 
That,  heard  on  high,  had  hush'd  those  peals  of  praise, 
That  seraphs  swell,  and  harping  angels  raise, 
Soft,  as  the  wave  from  Siloa's  brook  that  flows, 
Through  the  drear  silence  of  the  mountain  rose. 
How  sad  the  Saviour's  song  !  how  sweet !  how  holy ! 
The  last  he  sung  on  earth: — how  melancholy  ! 
Along  the  valley  sweep  the  expiring  notes. 
On  Kedron's  wave  the  melting  music  floats  : 
From  her  blue  arch,  the  lamp  of  evening  flings 
Her  mellow  lustre  as  the  Saviour  sings ; 
The  moon  above,  the  wave  beneath  is  still, 
And  light  and  music  mingle  on  the  hill. 
The  glittering  guard,  whose  viewless  ranks  invest 
The  brook's  green  margin  and  the  mountain's  crest, 
Catch  that  unearthly  song,  and  soar  away, 
Leave  this  dark  orb  for  fields  of  endless  day, 
And  round  the  Eternal's  throne  on  buoyant  pinions  play, 
Ye  glowing  seraphs,  that  enchanted  swim 
In  seas  of  rapture  as  ye  tune  the  hymn, 
Ye  bore  from  earth. — 0  say  ye  choral  quires, 
Why  in  such  haste  to  make  your  golden  lyres  r 
Why,  like  a  flattering,  like  a  fleeting  dream, 
Leave  that  lone  mountain  and  that  silent  stream  : 
Say,  could  not  then  the  "  Man  of  Sorrows"  claim 
Your  shield  of  adamant,  your  sword  of  flame  ? 
Hell  forc'd  a  smile,  at  your  retiring  wing, 
And  man  was  left — to  crucify  your  King, 

Ibid- 


The  Maniac, 

HARK  !  the  Maniac  fiercely  raging. 
Howls  his  sorrows  to  the  wind, 
Nought  his  frantic  grief  assuaging, 
Nought  can  ease  his  phrenzied  mind. 


228  REPUBLICAN  COMPILE 

View  him  bounding  now  with  anguish. 
While  his  eyes  in  terror  roll, 
Now  they  soften,  now  they  languish, 
Marking  thus  his  varied  soul. 

Hear  the  far  fetch'd  groans  of  horror, 
Issuing  from  his  throbbing  breast, 
See  those  pallid  cheeks  of  sorrow, 
And  those  limbs  which  know  no  rest. 

Once,  those  eyes  were  fraught  with  pleasure, 
Once,  those  cheeks  were  coral  red, 
But  bereft  of  the  mind's  treasure. 
Those  more  treacherous  beauties  fled. 

Once,  proud  Fortune  on  him  smiled, 
And  bright  Hope  his  thoughts  did  train  ; 
When  alas!  of  both  beguiled, 
"  Maddening  fury"  seiz'd  his  brain. 

Now  he  roams  poor  and  unfriended, 
None  his  wayward  steps  to  guide. 
All  his  wishes  unattended, 
All  his  wants  are  unsupply'd. 

So  speak  those  tatter'd  garments  on  him, 
And  his  shaggy  matted  hair, 
O  do  not  with  disgust  turn  from  him, 
He  was  once  as  you  now  are. 

Port  Folio. 


On  the  Powers  of  the  Human  Understanding, 

This  human  mind  !  how  grand  a  theme : 
Faint  image  of  the  Great  Supreme, 

The  universal  soul, 

That  lives,  that  thinks,  compares,  contrives  •. 
From  its  vast  self  all  power  derives 

To  manage  or  controul. 


:>nSCELLANEOUS  POETRY, 

What  energy,  O  soul  is  thine ; 
How  you  reflect,  resolve,  combine  5 

Invention  all  your  own  ! 
Material  bodies  changed  by  you, 
New  modes  assume,  or  natures  ne\vs 

From  death  or  chaos  won. 

To  intellectual  powers,  though  strong, 
To  moral  powers  a  use  belong 

More  noble  and  refined  ; 
These  lift  us  to  the  power  who  made5 
Illume  what  seems  to  us  all  shade, 

The  part  to  man  assigned. 

Both  nurtured  in  the  heart  of  man, 
Serve  to  advance  his  social  plan, 

And  happier  make  his  race  ; 
Hence  Reason  takes  her  potent  sway? 
And  grovelling  passions  bids  obey, 

That  harm  us  and  debase. 

O  ye,  who  long  hare  walked  obscure; 
Forever  must  those  clouds  endure 

Which  darken  human  bliss  ? 
Though  for  some  better  state  design'^; 
Is  there  not  vigour  in  the  mind 

To  make  a  heaven  of  this. 

Eternal  must  that  progress  be, 
Which  nature  through  futurity 

Decrees  the  human  soul ; 
Capacious  still,  it  still  improves, 
As  through  the  abyss  of  time  it  moves5 

Or  endless  ages  roll. 

Its  knowledge  grows  by  every  change  ; 
Through  science  vast  we  see  it  range, 

That  none  may  here  acquire  ; 
The  pause  of  death  must  come  between 
And  nature  gives  another  scene, 

More  brilliant  to  admire. 

Thus  decomposed,  or  recoinbined, 
To  slow  perfection  moves  the  mind. 
And  may  at  last  attain 

U 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

A  nearer  rank  with  that  first  cause. 
Which  distant,  though  it  ever  draws, 
Unequalled  must  remain. 

Its  moral  beauty  thus  displayed. 
In  moral  excellence  arrrayed, 

Perpetually  it  shines : 
Its  heaven  of  happiness  complete. 
The  mass  of  souls  united  meet 

In  orbs  that  heaven  assigns. 

PRENAU. 


Lines  on  a  Distrest  Orator. 

At  a  Public  Exhibition. 

Six  weeks  and  more  he  taxed  his  brain, 
And  wrote  petitions  to  the  Muses — 
Poor  orator  !  'twas  all  in  vain, 
For  what  they  lent  your  memory  loses — • 
Now  hear  the  culprit's  self  confess, 
In  strain  of  woe  his  sad  distress : — 

« I  went  upon  the  public  stage, 

**  I  flounc'd  and  floundered  in  a  rage, 

"  I  gabbled  like  a  goose  : 
*<  I  talk'd  of  custom,fame9  and  fashion, 
*  Of  moral  evil,  and  compassion, 

"And  pray  what  more  ? 

'ft  My  words  were  few,  I  must  confess, 
"  And  very  siily  my  address, 

"  A  melancholy  tale  ! 
"  In  short  1  knew  not  what  to  say — 
"  I  squinted  this  and  the  other  way, 

"  Like  Lucifer. 

"  Alack  a  day  !  my  friends,  quoth  I, 
"  I  guess  you'll  get  no  more  from  me— 

"  In  troth  I  have  forgot  it ! — 
"  O  my  Oration  !  thou  art  fled  ; 
t"  And  not  a  trace  within  my  head 

«  Remains  to  me ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  i 

What  could  be  done  ?— I  gaped  once  mora 
*  And  set  the  audience  in  a  roar, 

44  They  laughed  me  out  of  face — 
4  I  turned  my  eyes  from  north  to  south— 
'  I  clapt  my  lingers  in  my  mouth— 

"  And  down  I  came !"  PRENAU 


The  Eagle  and  the  Cat, 

From  a  Fable  in  prose  by  doctor  Frankliih 

ONE  morning,  as  grimalkin  sat 

Hard  by  a  barn  to  watch  a  rat. 

An  eagle  soaring  high  in  air, 

There  spied  him  squatting  like  a  hare. 

«  Thank  Jove  !"  said  she  "  good  cheer  at  last, 

Upon  a  hare  I'll  break  my  fast" 

Then  cow'ring  from  the  clouds  she  came 

Headlong,  and  pounc'd  upon  her  game, 

In  both  her  talons  seiz'd  the  prey, 

And  for  the  mountains  bore  away* 

Grimalkin  to  a  rude  attack 

Was  never  known  to  turn  his  back. 

With  foremost  claws  he  fiercely  clirigr. 

Forthwith  on  both  the  eagles  wings, 

About  her  sides  the  hinder  ply, 

At  ev'ry  stroke  the  feathers  ny. 

"  Ah,  cease  dear  puss !  a  truce  I  crave  ;w 

Exclaimed  the  bird—"  Thy  life  I'll  save" 

«  No !"  said  the  cat  "  your  carcase  shall 

From  this  great  height  now  break  my  falL 

Unless  you  ease  me  to  ground, 

And  leave  me  just  where  I  was  found." 

Then  at  her  throat  he  forward  sprung, 

And  like  a  fury,  there  he  hung. 

The  bird  of  Jove,  though  sadly  torn, 

To  yield  the  fight  had  still  forborne ; 

But  what  avail'd  her  strength  of  sight, 

Her  rapid  wing  or  skill  in  fight; 

These  erst  her  pride ; — were  now  decreed 

To  fail  her  in  the  time  of  need  ? 


235  KEPtfBLICAN  COMPILER; 

1^9  choice  was  left  her  but  to  chokcv 
Or  bend  her  neck  beneath  the  yoke. 
For  reasons  warriors  often  give; 
A  prudent  choice  she  made — to  live — 
To  live  !  and  breathe  the  vital  air, 
And  to  her  young  extend  her  care. 
So,  stooping  from  a  fearful  height, 
She  downward  tamely  takes  her  flight; 
And  leaves  grimalkin  free  to  roam 
About  the  barn,  his  ancient  home. 

Port  Folia. 


True  Beauty. 

rris  not  the  auburn  locks  of  hair, 
That  play  in  ringlets  round  the  fair : 
'Tis  not  her  cheeks,  o'erspread  with  smiles  j 
^Tis  not  her  voice  which  care  beguiles; 
'Tis  not  her  lips  with  roses  dress'd, 
Where  vagrant  bees  would  fondly  rest : 
*Tis  not  her  blue  eyes'  thrilling  glance ; 
*Tis  not  her  feet  that  thrid  the  dance ; 
'Tis  not  the  grace  with  which  they  moves 
That  warms^iiy  heart  with  ardent  love, 
But  'tis  her  finely  poiish'd  mind, 
By  virtue's  rarest  rules  refin'd  ; 
Like  Hesper  at  the  eve  of  day, 
When  Sol  emits  his  faintest  ray. 
Modest  and  meek,  without  pretence 
To  other  charms  than  charms  of  sense — 
To  charms  which  shine  when  Beauty  fade§* 
And  wrinkled  Age  the  form  invades — • 
To  these  a  lovely  maid  aspires, 
-And  these  awake  my  bosom's  fires ; 
For  they  can  warm  my  throbbing  heart. 
Without  the  aid  of  Fancy's  art. 
When  Time  uplifts  his  palsying  hand, 
And  strikes  the  visage  with  his  wand : 
When  cheeks  no  more  with  ardour  glow. 
Aud  silver'd  curls  resemble  snow  j 


MSCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  23S' 

When  eyes  have  lost  their  humid  blue, 
And  lips  have  chang'd  their  roseate  hue ; 
Ah !  then  how  weak  is  beauty's  power, 
To  charm  the  slowly  passing  hour ! 

Port  Folio. 


Destruction  of  Caraccas  by  an  Earthquakee 

THE  morning  dawn'd,  the  sun  its  splendours  shed, 
And  o'er  heaven's  arch  a  clear  effulgence  spread; 
The  warbling  songster  tuned  the  note  of  love, 
And  echo  trill'd  it  through  the  shady  grove. 
In  God's  high  temple  swell'd  devotion's  song, 
The  winding  aisles  the  sacred  sounds  prolong; 
To  one  Supreme  the  solemn  crowds  add  rest 
An  incense  rising  from  a  people's  breast ! 
While  thus  Caraccas  sought  the  Godhead's  carey 
And  fervent  thousands  bent  in  earnest  prayer, 
Earth  shook,  terrific  glow'd  the  flaming  skies, 
Wild  horror  reign'd  and  rent  the  air  with  cries  j 
The  crashing  edifice  in  ruin  spread, 
Entomb'd  alike  the  living  and  the  dead  : 
From  earth's  abyss  electric  flashes  pour'd, 
Death  frown'd  where'er  the  gushing- torrent  roard. 
How  cliang'd  the  scene  !  how  still  the  spacious  street 
Where  busy  circles  oft  were  wont  to  meet ! 
With  souls  adventurous  sketched  mercantile  views, 
Told  some  shrewd  joke,  or  eager  ask'd  the  news  i 
How  changed  the  closing  from  the  opening  day! 
No  more  the  warbling  carol  wakes  the  spray  ; 
The  song  of  mirth,  the  busy  hum  is  o'er 
And  thousands  sleep,  alas  }  to  wake  no  more. 
The  wretched  widow  wanders  wild  and  lone, 
Seeks  her  dear  lord  with  agonizing  moan, 
Tosses  her  arms,  her  lovely  tresses  rends, 
Hies  to  each  corse  and  silent  o'er  it  bends; 
Alas  !  disconsolate,  dejected  fair. 
Vain  all  your  search,  vain  all  your  tender  care  ; 
Where  spread  around  your  shatter'd  turret  fell, 
Beneath  lies  crush'd  the  form  you  loved  so  wsljk 


234  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

Along  the  pile  with  quick  and  hurried  pace, 

With  vacant  stare,  and  pale  averted  face, 

Methinks  I  see  some  lovely  damsel  tread 

The  ruin'd  mass  and  mark  the  heaps  of  dead  $ 

Each  half-choked  avenue  she  vainly  tries, 

O'er  yon  dismantled  dome,  your  arclrd  roof  flies. 

Hastes  to  the  lofty  chapel's  shatter'd  walls, 

On  her  lost  lover,  her  Alonzo  calls  $ 

Lists  for  a  moment : — all  is  mute  and  still ! 

Save  the  shrill  echo  from  the  neighboring  hill. 

She  calls  again  !— -no  answering  voice  she  hears, 

Beats  her  white  breast,  and  seeks  in  vain  for  tears  ? 

lieckless  she  roams,  and  raves  with  frantic  pain, 

Clasps  her  soft  hands,  and  binds  her  burning  braine 

Hope  for  a  moment  with  illusive  wile, 

Points  the  poor  mourner  to  yon  steepy  pile; 

a  'Tis  he"  the  wretched  girl  delerious  cries 

And  then  to  clasp  the  airy  phantom  tries  $ 

hshe  can  no  more  ; — and  with  one  pitious  shriek 

Nature  resigns ! — her  aching  heartstrings  break* 

How  oft,  by  fortune's  dangerous  gifts  beguiled, 

We  plough  the  ocean,  pierce  the  desert  wild. 

Sad  was  his  fate  in  that  tremendous  hour, 

Who  left  his  friends,  and  left  his  native  shore, 

Whelm'd  in  the  common  lot — with  strangers  dies, 

Where  no  dear  hand  might  close  his  friendless  eyes. 

No  more  Caraccas,  shall  thy  city  raise 

The  lofty  promise  of  its  former  days  $ 

O'er  all  thy  domes,  and  o'er  this  wretched  race, 

With  ivy  bimnd,  stern  ruin  waves  his  mace. 

The 


Burning  of  the  Richmond  Theatre* 

THE  curtain  rose  ! — attention  fix'd  her  eyes. 
And  saw  the  varied  scenery  arise ; 
The  generous  plaudit  cheer'd  the  actor's  heart, 
And  louldly  spoke  he  well  perform'd  his  part. 
The  play  went  eft*: — the  closing  curtain  fell, 
Unbroke  the  charm,  unbroke  the  fatal  spell, 


MISCELLAJv^OUS  POETRY.  2$ 

What  though  the  cup  of  pleasure  sparkling  flows, 

Its  soothing  sweets  are  dash'd  with  cruel  woes  ! 

See  o'er  the  scenes,  the  flaming  deluge  rage, 

While  flakes  of  fire  bestrew  the  tragic  stage. 

Confusion  reigns  ! — horror  and  wild  affright ! — 

Throngs  press  on  throngs  and  swell  the  dismal  sight' 

In  vain  they  fly,  in  vain,  alas  !  retire  3 

More  swiftly  sweep  relentless  floods  of  fire; 

Near  and  more  near  the  glowing  volumes  press, 

Curl  o'er  the  vault  and  pierce  the  deep  recess ; 

The  narrow  entry  choked,  advance  denies, 

Block'd  up  by  crowds,  and  fill'd  with  shrieks  and  cries., 

They  tug,  they  strive,  the  compact  body  moves, 

But  stands  unbroke  and  every  effort  braves. 

The  heated  smoke  in  suffocating  clouds 

Kolls  on  and  spreads  its  dense  and  sable  shrouds ; 

Despair  nerves  every  arm,  all  struggling  strive 

The  close  wedged  column  of  their  friends  to  rive* 

The  element  completes  the  work  of  death, 

Enters  each  nook  with  calorific  breath  ; 

On  the  parch'd  tongue  expires  the  piercing  scream, 

Each  gushing  mouth  inhales  the  noxious  stream. 

One  effort  more : — the  fastened  crowd  divides. 

To  different  points  roll  on  the  desperate  tides, 

That  tumbles  headlong  down  the  winding  stair, 

By  torment  stung  and  goaded  by  despair. 

Many,  alas  !  a  crueldeath  there  meet, 

Thrust  down  by  friends,  and  trampled  by  their  feet-? 

Dismay  drives  on  !  nor  heeds  the  sufferer's  moan. 

The  piteous  shriek,  and  agonizing  groan  ; 

All  cling  to  life,  cool  judgement  yields  its  sway? 

While  fear  and  phrenzy  shout  away,  away  ! 

This  to  the  window  bends  its  awful  flight, . 

And  madly  plunges  from  the  dizzy  height. 

Few,  few*  escaped,  who  from  that  window  fell, 

The  dreadful  story  of  the  night  to  tell. 

The  veil  of  silence,  and  the  tears  that  flow. 

More  fitly  paint  the  horrid  scene  of  woe. 

Wind  then,  my  muse !  regret's  sad  cypress  wreatb 

Around  the  victims  of  remorseless 


£3:  TIEPUHLICAN  COMPILER. 

Progress  of  Time. 

TIME  !  sweeps  his  pinions,  speeds  his  rapid  course, 

Crushes  the  weak,  and  breaks  the  giant's  force  ; 

Raises  his  fateful  glass  with  threatening  hand, 

And  meets  our  fleeting  moment^\vith  his  sand. 

Crowns,  sceptres,  thrones,  the  chieftain's  dazzling  crest. 

Fall  at  his  beck  and  bow  to  his  behest : 

His  dread  command  alike  extends  to  all, 

Builds  up  one  nation,  bids  another  fall; 

Yet  there  are  moments  wrested  from  his  flight. 

Bright  moments  flashing  through  oblivion's  night. 

Oft  has  the  pen  its  magic  power  essay 'd. 

The  canvas  oft  has  lofty  worth  portray 'd  ; 

With  glorious  deeds  historic  annals  teem, 

Where  truth's  clear  mirror  casts  its  sacred  beam, 

Though  gloomy  rolls  the  dark  and  sullen  wave, 

The  swans  of  verse  preserve  the  just  and  brave  5 

IB  till  give  some  tablet  to  immortal  fame, 

Stampt  with  the  sage's  or  the  hero's  name, 

When  despot-pomp,  in  purple  robes  array'd, 

Before  the  test  of  years  to  come  shall  fade ; 

When  the  "stern  leader  wakes  no  more  the  war, 

And  time's  sharp  scythe  shall  cleave  the  sword  and  spear. 

The  pen  will  live ;  immortal  and  sublime. 

Triumphant  victor  of  subjected  time.  Ibid, 


Tlie  Grave  of  the  Tear. 

Lines  written  for  the  31st  of  December. 

BE  composM  ev'ry  toil  and  each  turbulent  motimi, 

That  encircles  the  heart  in  life's  treacherous  snares  5 
And  the  hour  that  invites  to  the  calm  of  devotion, 

Undisturb'd  by  regrets — unencumbered  with  cares, 
How  cheerless  the  late  blooming  face  of  creation  i 

Weary  Time  seems  to  pause  in  his  rapid  career, 
And  f align ?d  with  the  work  of  his  own  desolation, 

Looks  behind  with  a  smile — on  the  grave  of  the  year. 
Hark !  the  wind  whistles  rudely — the  shadows  are  closing^ 

That  enwrap  hi3  broad  path  'in  the  mantle  of  night  $ 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  237 

While  pleasure's  gay  sons  are  in  quiet  reposing, 

Undismay'd  at  the  wrecks  that  have  number'd  his  flight. 
From  yon  temple  where  fashion's  bright  tapers  are  lighted, 

Her  vot'ries  in  crowds,  deck'd  with  garlands  appear; 
And  (as  yet  their  warm  hopes  by  no  spectres  affrighted) 

Assemble  to  dance — round  the  grave  of  the  year. 
Oh  I  hate  the  stale  cup  which  the  idlers  have  tasted — 

When  I  think  on  the  ills  of  life's  comfortless  day  ; 
How  the  flow'rs  of  my  childhood  their  verdure  have  wasted 

And  the  friends  of  my  youth  have  been  stolen  away  >! 
They  think  not  how  fruitless  the  warmest  endeavour, 

To  recall  the  kind  moments,  neglected  when  near—- 
When the  hours  that  oblivion  has  cancel'd  forever, 

Are  interr'd  by  her  hand — in  the  grave  of  the  year* 
Since  the  last  solemn  reign  of  this  day  of  reflection, 

What  throngs  have  relinquish'd  life's  perishing  breath  J 
How  many  have  shed  their  last  tear  of  dejection 

And  closed  the  dim  eye  in  the  darkness  of  death  ,* 
Uow  many  have  sudden  their  pilgrimage  ended, 
%  Beneath  the  low  pall  that  envelopes  their  bier ; 
Or  to  death's  lonesome  valley  have  gently  descended; 

And  made  their  cold  beds — with  the  grave  of  the  year* 
5Tis  the  year  that  so  late,  its  hew  beauties  disclosing, 

Rose  bright  on  the  happy,  the  careless  and  gay, 
Who  now  on  their  pillow  of  dust  are  reposing, 

Where  the  sod  presses  damp  on  their  bosoms  of  clay, 
Then  talk  not  of  bliss  while  her  smile  is  expiring, 

disappointment  still  drowns  it  in  misery's  tear; 
Ileflect  and  be  wise — for  the  day  is  retiring, 

And  to-morrow  will  dawn— on  the  grave  of  the  yean 
Yet  a  while — and  no  seasons  around  us  will  flourish, 

^But  silence  for  each  her  dark  mansion  prepare ; 
Where  beauty  no  longer  her  roses  shall  nourish, 

Nor  the  liily  overspread  the  wan  cheek  of  despair. 
But  the  eye  shall  with  lustre  unfading  be  brightened, 

When  it  wakes  to  true  bliss  in  yon  orient  sphere ; 
By  the  sunbeams  of  splendour  immortalenlightened, 

Which  no  more  shall  go  d<r,va  on  the  grave  of  a  year, 

MQNTGAENIKH. 


€38  REPUBLICAN  COMPILE*, 

Ode  to  Night. 

SPIRIT  of  Night,  to  melancholy  dear, 

Hail  to  thy  magic  spell  that  binds  the  heart^ 

Hail  to  thy  shadowy  hour  of  fear  ; 

But  yet  the  hour  to  touch  the  heart  sincere, 
And  sadly  sorrowing  fancies  to  impart. 

Spirit  of  Night,  I  hail  thy <sole manpower, 

Thy  melancholy  influent  o'er  the  mind ; 
O !  let  me  wander  in  thy  twilight  hour, 
Near  some  sequestered  glen  or  fairy  bower, 

And  list  their  music  wild  that  sighs  upon  the  wind- 

Qh guide  me  where  in  moonlight  dell, 

Some  fairy  music  on  the  breeze  shall  sigh, 

Like  that  which  wakes  the  soul  like  vesper  swell ; 

Like  that  which  breathes  on  night  from  cloisterd  cell, 
And  bursts  upon  the  soul  like  sounds  of  heavenly 
melody. 

Those  wildering  sounds  that  charm  the  ear 

Are  like  the  trembling  swell  of  convent  shrine 
That  speed  the  immortal  soul  to  realms  of  light, 
That  raise  the  thoughts  to  worlds  on  high  so  bright* 
As  virgin's  holy  chant  their  hymn's  divine. 

Oh  lead  me  to  some  murmuring  stream, 

On  whose  shadowy  banks  the  moonbeams  play  ^ 
There  let  me  muse  on  some  romantic  theme, 
Or  sketch  in  fancy's  eye  some  visional  dream, 

And  think  on  hours  of  hope,  though  far  remov'd  awayt 

Lead  where  dark  the  forest  frowns, 

And  where  "  the  pine  woods  wave  on  high," 

Whose  branches  make  a  murmuring  sound, 

That  throw  a  spell  so  sad  around, 

And  breathe  on  ear  of  night  a  sweetly  plaintive  sigK. 

Or  guide  me  in  thy  lonely  hour, 

Through  some  wild  path  or  solitary  haunt, 
'Where  dark  the  clouds  of  heaven  do  lower, 
Which  dimly  seen  by  fleeting  moonbeam's  power, 
And  where  pale  spectres  raise  the  midnight  chant, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY,  239 

Or  near  some  mouldering  abbey's  ruins  gray. 

Where  taper  lights  are  seen  to  burn  so  pale. 
Where  sounds  unearthly  shadowy  minstrels  play, 
That,  born  on  breeze  of  Night,  flit  far  away, 
And  sadly  breathes  as  sighs  the  evening  gale. 

In  hour  of  Night,  when  clouds  obscure  the  sky, 
Oh  lead  me,  Fancy,  to  some  rocky  shore, 

On  whose  rough  breast  the  tempest  winds  do  sig$? 

That  speak  in  sorrow  that  a  storm  is  nigh, 
And  wildly  foaming  mountain  waves  do  roar. 

Or  let  me  wander  on  the  cliff,  whose  brow 
Bends  in  solemn  darkness  o'er  the  deep ; 

List  to  the  storm  that  murmuring  sighs  below, 

And  Autumn's  winds  that  hoarsely  blow, 

As  o'er  the  rocks  with  sadly  sorrowing  sound  they 
sweep. 

There  let  me  pause  and  contemplate  the  scene, 

And  list  to  sounds  that  on  the  blast  are  driven ; 
Watch  the  slow  clouds  as  gleams  the  moon  between^ 
That  gives  a  glimpse  of  calmer  skies  serene, 

And  sheds  o'er  earth  the  beauteous  light  of  heaven. 

Oh  let  me  pause  there,  Spirit  of  lonely  Night, 
As  speaks  the  thunder  in  an  hour  of  storms, 
Mark  fancied  scenes  as  bursts  the  pale  moonlight, 
No  dark  amid  the  clouds,  whose  edges  bright 

Give  scenes  of  Fancy's  power  and  wildering  forms. 


The  Sea  Nymph. 

WHAT  forms  are  those  that  seamen  dimly  view, 

By  star  of  night  upon  the  wave, 
Whose  bosom  of  the  darkest  blue, 
Changing  oft  in  varying  hue, 

Permit  them  thfts  in  sport  their  limbs  to  lave  ? 

Why  hangs  that  sea  boy  o'er  her  bow, 
Does  magick  dwell  within  the  deep  ? 
What  voice  is  that — that  sighs  belov/, 


SW  REPUBLICAN    COMPILER. 

Is  it  the  murmuring  winds  that  blow, 
And  dash  the  resisting  waves  with  furious  svPeep  ? 

What  forms  are  those  that  rise  and  disappear, 
As  on  the  vessel  by  the  blast  is  driven  ? 

What  sounds  are  those  that  seamen  oft  do  hear  ? 

What  music's  that — that  charms  the  listening  ear, 
And  floats  along  the  deep  like  sound  of  harp  of  heaven? 

That  music  wild  that  floats  along  the  deep, 

Is  breathed  by  minstrel  of  no  mortal  form ! 
So  light,  so  airy,  of  such  magic  sweep, 
And  now  so  sad  'twould  cause  the  soul  to  weep, 
As  "  sighs  the  spirit  of  the  coming  storm." 

What  spell  is  that — that  breathes  with  Mermaid  song, 

And  lingers  witching  on  the  ear  of  Even  ? 
What  forms  are  those,  as  bounds  the  bark  along, 
Are  heard  in  mountain  wave  with  magic  tongue, 

To  warble  forth  their  notes  like  holy  choir  of  heaven  ? 

Those  forms  are  seen  alone  in  midnight  hour, 

When  the  pale  moon  sheds  her  uncertain  light  ; 
They  dwell  amid  the  deep  in  coittl  bovver, 
They  sport  upon  the  wave  with  fairy  power, 

And  seem  to  Sailors'  eye  like  band  of  angels  bright, 

They  warn  the  Mariner  when  they  cannot  save. 

When  the  vessel  by  the  blast  is  torn,  r 

Yet,  when  'tis  lost  they  plunge  amid  the  wave, 
And  bear  their  corses  to  a  sea-green  grave, 

And  o'er  his  cold  remains  with  sorrowing  tears  do 
mourn. 

'That  music  wild,  that  sighs  upon  the  deep, 

And  seems  like  minstrel  harp  of  Spirit  blest, 
Beneath  the  dark  blue  wave  where  Sailors  sleep, 
Is  Sea  Nymph  voice,  who  oft  his  fate  does  weep, 
And  sweetly  chants  a  sorrowing  requiem  for  his  rest 

And  oft  the  Neried  song  which  seamen  hear, 
As  bounds  the  vessel  through  the  foaming  wave, 

Causes  to  rush  the  startling  tear, 

For  well  they  know  where  Mermaid  forms  appear > 
Is  some  departed  brother's  watery  grave. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  Cii 

Qn  the  Death  of  an  Infant. 

Yet  His  human  to  weep— but  the  tears  that  \ye  shed 
Are  unting'd  with  the  poison  of  infidel  pain  : 

We  grieve  that  our  fair  bow  of  promise  is  iled, 
But  we  feel  it  has  melted  in  heaven  again. 

Oh,  yes !  when  the  dark  dream  of  life  is  all  o'er, 
And  the  heart  stricken  Mother  has  gone' to  her  rest, 

The  kiss  of  her  daughter  shall  greet  her  once  more, 
And  the  sweet  thing  who  died  cling  again  to  her  breast ! 

And  the  Father!  who  hung,  with  a  close  trembling  grasp, 
To  the  arm  of  his  friend  as  he  lean'd  o'er  her  tomb, 

Shall  feel  round  his  neck  the  fair  innocent  clasp, 
And  his  lip  press  a  cheek  that  forever  shall  bloom. 

Oh !  curse  on  the  cold-hearted  sceptic,  who  tries 
To  blind  the  rapt  gaze,  that  looks  up  thro'  the  sky  > 

And  says  to  the  mourner — when  all  he  lov'd  dies — 
"  'Tis  the  doom  of  mortality — ever  to  die." 

But  'tis  false,  and  the  Being,  whose  bountiful  breath 
Gives  the  winter-nip'd  flower  to  lift  its  sweet 

Shall  waken  the  early-nip'd  blossom  from  death, 
To  bioom — wlren  creation  itself  shall  be  dead. 


The  Star-Spangled  Banner. 

0!  say  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 

What  so  proudly  we  hail'd  at  the  twilight's  last  gleam- 
ing? 
Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  through  the  perilous 

fight, 

O'er  the  ramparts  we  watch'd,  were  so  gallantly  stream- 
ing! 

And  the  rockets  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air, 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  Hag  was  still  there, 
O!  say  does  that  star-spangled  banner  yet  wave, 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ? 

W 


242  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

On  the  shore,  dimly  seen,  through  the  mists  of  the  deep, 
Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence  reposes, 

What  is  that,  which  the  breeze  o'er  the  towering  steep, 
As  it  fitfully  blows,  half  conceals,  half  discloses? 

Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam, 

In  full  glory  reflected  now  shines  on  the  stream, 

'Tis  the  star-spangled  banner,  O!  long  may  it  wave, 
O'er  the  land  of  tHe  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

And  where  is  that  band  who  so  vauntingly  swore, 
That  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battle's  confusion, 

A  home  and  a  country  should  leave  us  no  more  ? 

Their  blood  has  wash'd  out  their  foul  footstep's  pollu- 
tion. 

No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave, 

From  the  terror  of  flight  or  the  gloom  of  the  grave ; 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  doth  wave, 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

O !  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 
Between  their  lov'd  home,  and  war's  desolation, 

Blest  with  vict'ry  and  peace,  may  the  heav'n  rescued  land, 
Praise  the  Power  that  hath  made,  and  preserv'd  us  a 
nation ! 

Then  conquer  we  must,  when  our  cause  it  is  just, 

And  this  be  our  motto — "  In  God  is  our  trust/' 

And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave, 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 


Misery,  vs.  Glory. 

Written  by  Miss  Lydia  Huntley,  of  Connecticut 

WAFT  not  to  me  the  blast  of  fame, 
That  swells  the  trump  of  victory : 

For  to  my  ear  it  gives  the  name 
Of  slaughter  and  of  misery. 

Boast  not  so  much  of  honour's  sword, 
Wave  not  so  high  the  victor's  plume : 

They  point  me  to  the  bosom  gor'd, 

They  point  me  to  the  blood  stain'd  tomlv 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

The  boastful  hour,  the  revel  loud; 

That  strive  to  drown  the  voice  of  pain, 
What  are  they  but  the  fickle  crowd 

Rejoicing  o^'er  their  brethren  slain! 

And  ah!  through  glory's  fading  blaze, 

I  see  the  cottage  taper  pale, 
Which  sheds  its  faint  and  feeble  rays, 

Where  unprotected  orphans  wail  ; 

Where  the  sad  widow  weeping  stands, 
As  if  her  day  of  hope  was  gone ; 

Where  the  wild  mother  clasps  her  hands, 
And  asks  the  victor  for  her  son. 

Where  the  lone  maid  in  secret  sighs, 
O'er  the  last  solace  of  her  heart, 

As  prostrate  in  despair  she  lies. 
And  feels  her  tortured  life  depart. 

Where,  'midst  that  desolating  land. 
The  sire  lamenting  o'er  his  son, 

Extends  his  weak  and  powerless  hand, 
And  finds  his  only  prop  is  gone. 

'See  how  the  hands  of  war  and  woe 
Have  rifled  sweet  domestic  bliss; 

And  tell  me  if  your  laurels  grow, 
And  flourish  in  a  soil  like  this  ? 


CHRYSTALINA. 

A  Fairy  Tale — by  an  American. 

TOWARDS  the  palace,  silent  and  alone 

The  hero  mov'd-— afar  the  fabric  shone 

Like  gorgeous  clouds  that  throng  the  setting  sun  ; 

But  ere  he  reach'd  that  Palace,  huge  and  bright, 

A  glorious  scene  detainM  the  wand 'ring  Knight— - 

A  pearly  River  !  whose  melodious  tide 

Lav'd  golden  shores  1  -whose  banks  were  beautified 


f|l  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

With  trees  witte  waving  Paradisian  bow'rS 

And  all  the  gaudy  multitude  of  flow'rs. 

That  on  Spring's  lap  the  liberal  Flora  show'rs. 

This  stream,  dividing,  roll'd  its  branches  twain, 

In  circling  sweep  around  a  flow'ry  plain, 

Thro'  vocal  groves,  then  fondly  met  again. 

The  Islet  fair,  so  form'd,  arose  between, 

With  dome-like  swell,  array 'd  in  richest  green ; 

So  fair  it  was,  so  smooth,  so  heav'nly  sweet, 

It  scem'ci  made  only  for  angelic  feet. 

On  this  green  Isle  the  Palace  stood, 

And  rain-bow  bridges  arch  VI  the  pearly  flood— 

A  fairer  bow  fair  Juno  ne'er  display 'd 

In  vernal -skies,  tho'  not  like  Juno's  made. 

Of  subtile  sun-beams,  but  of  solid  gems, 

Such  as  adorn  imperial  diadems. 

Its  blue  was  solid  sapphire.     Its  gay  green 

Was  massy  emerald..    The  ruby  sheen 

Form'd  its  bright  curve  of  rich  and  rosy  red  j 

Its  yellow  hue  the  golden  Topaz  shed. 

Seem'd  either  end  on  snow-w hi te  clouds  to  lie— 

They  were  not  clouds,  but  sculptur'd  ivory  ! 

And  now  a  bugle  breath'd  a  silver  sound, 

Whose  notes  with  soft  reverberations,  round 

Rang  sweet  and  long;  now  silently  unfold 

The  diamond  gates  on  hinge  of  polish'd  gold ; 

And  now  rode  out  a  fairy  cavalcade, 

In  order'd  inarch,  with  banners  bright  displayed, 

With  diamond  lances  and  with  golden  helms, 

And  shields  of  gold  embossed  with  sparkling  gems, 

Advaric'd  the  pageant;  proud  beneath  each  knight 

O'er  grassy  levels  pranc'd  their  steeds  milk-white, 

Whose  ivory  hoofs  in  glitt'ring;  silver  shod, 

With  nimble  grace  on  blusing  fiow'rets  trod, 

Prancing  they  came,  and  as  the  trumpets  blow, 

They  neigh'd  for  pride  and  arch'd  their  necks  of  snow  ; 

Toss'd  their  proud  heads  indignant  of  the  rein, 

Champ'd  their  foam'd  bits  and  pawed  the  trembling  plain.. 

Warrior  and  steed  array 'd  for  battle  shone, 

Whose  burnish'd  mail  and  bright  caparison 

Illum'd,  far  round,  the  flow'r  enwoven  field, 

And  restless  splendors  flash VI  from  shield  to  shield. 

Loud  in  the  van  the  wreathed  bugle  spoke, 

Till  woods  and  floods  with  martial  clamors  shook* 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  Sli 

in  tke  midst,  enring'd  by  many  a  knight* 
And  thron'd  conspicuous  on  his  chariot  bright, 
Rode  Oberon  forth,  in  proud,  imperial  state, 
And,  by  his  side,  his  queen  Titania  sate. 
In  proud  procession  the  refulgent  host 
O'er  the  gay  bridge,  the  pearly  River  cross'd  ; 
The  rain -bow  arch  beneath  the  measur'd  tread 
Of  prancing  steed,  harmonious  clangor  made. 


Lines,  addressed  to  a  very  interesting  and  intelligent 
little  Girl,  deprived  of  the  faculties  of  speech  and  hear- 
ing: In  consequence  of  reading  this  question,  propos- 
ed to  one  of  Mbe  Sicard's  pupils :  "  Jive  the  deaf  and 
dumb  unhappy?" 

By  Miss  LYDIA  HUNTLEY,  of  Connecticut. 

OH,  could  the  kind  enquirer  gaze 
Upon  thy  brow  with  feeling  fraught, 

Its  smile,  like  inspiration's  rays, 

Would  give  the  answer  to  his  thought, 

And  could  he  see  thy  sportive  grace 

Soft  blending  with  submission  due, 
And  note  thy  bosom's  tenderness, 

To  every  just  emotion  true  $ 

And  when  the  new  idea  glows 

On  the  pure  altar  of  thy  mind. 
Observe  th?  exulting  tear  that  flows, 

In  silent  :ectacy  refin'd  ; 

Thy  active  life  ;  thy  look  of  bliss ; 

The  sparkling  of  thy  magic  eye  ; 
He  would  his  sceptic  doubts  dismiss., 

And  lay  his  useless  pity  by ; 

. 
And  bless  the  ear  that  ne'er  has  knowrv 

The  voice  of  censure,  pride,  or  art 5 
Or  trembling  at  that  sterner  tone, 

That,  while  it  tortures,  chilis  the  heart  ^ 


24i>  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

And  hless  the  lip  that  ne'er  can  tel! 

Of  human  woes  the  vast  amount, 
Nor  pour  those  idle  words  that  swell 

The  terror  of  our  last  account. 

For  sure  the  stream  of  silent  course 
May  flow  as  deep,  as  pure,  as  blest, 

As  that  which  rolls  in  torrents  hoarse, 
Or  murmurs  o'er  the  mountain's  breastc 

As  sweet  a  scene,  as  fair  a  shore, 
As  rich  a  soil,  its  tide  may  lave; 

Then  joyful  and  accepted  pour 
Its  tribute  to  the  mighty  wave. 


The  Wilderness. 

THERE  is  a  wilderness  more  dark 
Than  groves  of  fir  on  Huron's  shore  5 

And  in  that  cheerless  region,  hark 

What  serpents  hiss,  what  monsters  roar ! 

It  is  not  in  the  untrodden  isles 
Of  vast  Superior's  stormy  lake, 

Where  social  comfort  never  smiles, 

Nor  sun-beams  pierce  the  tangled  brake  j 

Nor  is  it  in  the  deepest  shade 
Of  India's  tiger-haunted  wood  $ 
or  western  forests  unsurvey'd, 
Where  crouching  panthers  lurk  for  blood  ? 

'Tis  in  the  dark  uncultur'd  soul, 

By  education  unrefin'd— 
Where  hissing  malice,  vices  foul, 
And  all  the  hateful  passions  prowl — > 

The  fcigMful  wwerneti  of  mint. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

Winter. 

HOARSE  howls  the  chilling  northern  blast, 
The  sun's  obscur'd — the  sky's  o'ercast— 
The  lightning  glares  o'er  depths  profound? 
While  pealing  thunders  roll  around — 
The  ocean  heaves  with  furious  roar — 
And  tempests  whirl  from  shore  to  shore. 
Those  murmuring  sounds  ye  heard  afar, 
Precede  old  winter's  icy  car, 
Proclaim  his  bellowing  whirlwinds  high, 
His  elemental  warfare  nigh; 
While  thron'd  on  clouds  his  awful  fornt, 
Expels  the  furious  midnight  storm. 

Marked  ye — yon  vessel's  fainting  band, 
Strive  hard  to  gain  their  native  strand  ? 
Saw  ye  the  shiv'ring.  hapless  few, 
The  sport  of  every  wind  that  blew  ? 
Now  o'er  the  liquid  mountains  tost, 
With  desperate  hand,  in  vain  they  guide 
Their  shatter'd  bark  along  the  tide. 
That  dreadful  shriek — that  dismal  yell, 
Rings  out  the  seaman's  funeral  knell ; 
All  hopes  are  gone — no  power  can  save, 
They  perish  in  the  briny  wave  1 

Ah  !  never  more  their  hearts  shall  burn 
With  friendship's  joys,  or  love's  return  5 
No  partner's  fond  embrace  shall  meetj 
No  humble  home — no  blest  retreat. 
That  lengthen'd  groan — that  piercing  sigh?- 
That  little  infant's  plaintive  cry; 
That  frantic  burst,  and  maniac  look. 
That  frame  by  pangs  convulsive  shook, 
Too  truly  speak  the  sad  reverse — 
Too  plain  the  woful  tale  rehearse — 
They*  prospects,  dim 'd  by  horror's  gloom^ 
Lie  buried  in. the  watery  tomb! 

Yet  think  not  scenes  of  woe  and  pain 
Alone  distinguish  winter's  reign, 
Though  desolation's  hand  is  high — * 
What  social  pleasures  hoyer  nigh! , 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

The  comforts  of  the  blazing  hearth, 
The  kindling  smile  of  harmless  mirth, 
The  soft  expressive  look  of  love 
That  e'en  the  rudest  heart  would  move,. 
The  Inspired  Volume's  sacred  lore, 
The  historic  page — instruction  pour, 
While  genuine  wit  will  brightly  flow, 
And  every  face  with  rapture  glow! 

Then  hail,  stern  winter !  monarch  hoar ! 
And  all  thy  rushing  torrents  pour — 
More  dear  to  me  their  echoes  shrill, 
Than  summer's  softly  tinkling  rill, 
Thy  mountain  gale  and  piercing  air, 
Than  zephyrs  breath 'd  through  gardens  fair, 
Yon  wild  heath  clad  in  spotless  snow, 
Yon  giant  cliff's  imperious  brow, 
Around  whose  summit  lightnings  flash. 
At  whose  dark  base  the  surges  dash. 
Than  all  the  summer's  gaudy  scene, 
Oppressive  heat — and  verdure  green. 


A 'Night  View  of  the  Field  of  Raisin,  after  the  Battle 

THE  battle's  o'er,  the  din  is  past, 
Night's  shadow  on  the  field  is  cast ; 
The  moon,  with  pale  and  sickly  beam, 
Looks  pensive  on  the  bloody  stream ; 
The  Indian  yell  is  heard  no  more. 
And  silence  reigns  on  Erie's  shore* 

Now  is  the  tipae,  my  friend,  to  tread 
The  field  on  which  our  warriors  bled ; 
To  raise  the  wounded  Chieftain's  crest, 
And  warm  with  tears  his  clay  cold  breast ; 
To  treasure  up  his  last  command. 
And  bear  it  to  his  native  land — 
It  may  one  ray  of  joy  iuipart 
To  a  fond  parents  bleeding  heart, 
Or,  for  a  moment,  it  may  dry 
The  tear  drops  in  the  widowV eye; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

Vain  hope,  away !     The  widow  ne'er 
Her  hero's  dying  wish  shall  hear ! 
The  zephyr  bears  no  passing  sigh, 
No  straggling  Chieftain  meets  the  eye — 
Sound  is  his  sleep  by  Raisin's  wave, 
Or  Erie's  waters  are  his  grave. 

O!  send,  sweet  moon,  one  ray  of  light, 

Across  the  dusky  brow  of  night, 

That  I  may  know  each  warrior's  form, 

Who  sunk  beneath  the  battle  storm. 

Gradual,  the  heavy  clouds  give  way — 

The  moon  beams  on  the  waters  play  j 

See,  on  the  brink  a  soldier  lies  ! 

Pale  is  his  visage,  dim  his  eyes, 

And,  like  a  stranded  vessel's  sail, 

His  red  locks  wanton  on  the  gale  : 

It  is  the  gay  and  gallant  MEAD — 

In  peace,  mild  as  the  setting  beam 

That  guides  the  tranquil  summer  stream  $ 

In  war,  the  fiery  battle  steed. 

The  foe  no  more  shall  dread  his  arm, 

His  mirth  no  more  the  ear  shall  charm  5 

But  on  his  low  and  silent  grave, 

The  laurel  fresh  and  green  shall  wave. 

But  who  is  he,  so  pale  and  low, 
Stretch'd  on  his  bloody  bier  of  snow, 
Beside  the  water's  silent  flow  ? 
The  fierce  fire  of  his  eye  is  dead, 
The  ruddy  glow  his  cheek  has  fied ; 
Yes  fair  in  death  his  corpse  appears, 
Smooth  is  his  brow  and  few  his  years. 
For  tlice,  sweet  youth  !  the  sigh  shall  start 
In  thy  fond  mother's  anguish 'd  heart ; 
For  thee,  some  virgin's  cheek  shall  feel 
At  midnight  hour,  the  tear-drops  steal ; 
And  playmates  of  thy  childhood's  hour, 
Pour  o'er  thy  grave  grief's  warmest  show'r. 
Could  modest  merit  ever  save 
Its  dear  possessor  from  the  grave, 
Thy  corpse,  MONTGOMERY,  had  ne'er  lain 
Upon  this  wild  unhallow'd  plain ! 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

But  what  were  modest  merit  here  ? 
Or  what  were  virtue's  pleading  tear  ? 
The  hand  that  laid  that  hero  low, 
The  eye  that  saw  his  lite-blood  flow, 
Could  gaze,  unmov'd,  on  scenes'of  woe. 
Then  sleep,  sweet  youth,  tho'  far  away 
From  home  and  friends,  thy  lifeless  clay, 
Yet  oft  on  fancy's  pinions  born, 
Friendship  shall  seek  thy  lowly  urn  ; 
There  shall  the  zephyr  softly  blow, 
There  shall  the  billows  gently  flow  ; 
There  shall  the  wild  flow'r  love  to  bloom, 
And  shed  its  fragrance  on  thy  tomb. 


pon 

Death  calmly  sat  and  sweetly  smil'd; 
Yet  seem'd  his  eye  of  tender  blue, 
Moisten'd  with  pity's  pearly  dew; 
*Tis  thus  the  infant  sinks  to  rest, 
Serenely  tm  its  mother's  breast  : 
Yes,  pity  was  his  better  part, 
Pity  and  friendship  form'd  his  heart, 
Nor  oft  was  heart  so  good  and  kind, 
United  with  such  noble  mind. 

Here,  venturous  muse,  thy  flight  restrain  ; 
No  farther  go—  the  task  is  vain  — 
Here  GRAVES  and  ALLEN  meet  the  eye, 
And  SIMPSON'S  giant  form  is  nigh! 
And  EDMONSTON,  a  warrior  old, 
And  HART,  the  boldest  of  the  bold, 
These  and  their  brave  compatriot  band, 
Ask  the  sedate  Historian's  hand—  - 
Mine  only  strews  the  fading  flow'rs 
Which  mem'ry  culls  from  friendship's 
His  shall  entwine  immortal  bays, 
Which  brighter  glow  thro7  future  days* 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY,  251 


ccit  is  for  man  to  perform  great  actions 
**  *Tis  for  woman  to  inspire  them." 


OH  I  cold  is  the  ice-drop  that  clings  to  the  willow, 

When  winter  lias  sprinkled  his  hoar-locks  with  snow  ; 
And  chill  is  the  sigh  of  Ontario's  billow 

That  bursts  from  his  wave-beaten  caverns  below; 
But  colder's  the  eye  where  no  kindness  sits  beaming 

To  him  who  unvalued  tind  friendless  remains, 
And  the  heart-frozen  sigh  where  no  warm  wish  is  teeming, 

More  chill  than  the  lake-tempest  breathes  o'er  the 
plains. 

When  the  bark  hutted  savage  alone  by  his  fountain, 

Sits  sadly  at  night  on  the  leaf-covered  clod, 
And  watches  the  arctic-light  stream  o'er  the  mountain, 

Whose  top  in  the  chase  he  so  often  has  trod  : 
Oh  solitude  blest  !  where  no  footstep  approaches 

Of  wonder  or  mem'rv  the  spell  to  dethrone, 
To  that  on  which  man  every  moment  encroaches 

When  the  heart  tho'  surrounded  is  yet  more  alon?> 

Say,  lives  there  an  IDA,  thus  brightly  revealing 

A  spirit  so  gentle  —  a  bosom  so  pure, 
And  a  heart  ever  faithful  to  nature  and  feeling, 

That  dares  for  her  lover  one  sorrow  endure? 
Oh!  point  to  her  dwelling;  —  in  love's  warm  devotion, 

An  OSMYN  in  haste  to  her  feet  should  be  borne. 
That  by  her  roused  to  greatness,  each  noble  emotion 

Might  burst  from  the  torpor-cold  chains  it  has  worn. 


Sand  Hill  Scene,  at  the  head  of  Congaree  Creek. 

O  FOR  the  harp  that  wildly  rung 
Scotland's  fairy  vales  among; 
O  for  the  hand  that  swept  the  lyre, 
And  woke  its  notes  with  ardent  fire, 
Bade  Rokeby's  halls  before  us  rise 
Array 'd  in  fancy's  gorgeous  dyes  : 

O  for  the  touching  strain, 
That  gave  to  Bernard's  darksome  towers— 
Wild  Throsgil's  shade — Matilda's  bowers*-; 


$52  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

The  Tee's  stream,  and  Wilfred's  love? 
A  charm  the  powers  of  time  above — 

A  glorious,  an  immortal  name. 

Then  Cong'ree's  limpid  flow, 
And  the  rude  scenes  that  round  it  spread* 
Gloomy  as  mansions  of  the  dead, 

No  common  fame  should  know* 
Sweet  briar  all  around  its  banks, 
And  lady  fern,  in  clustered  ranks, 

In  wild  profusion  grow  : 
The  silver-leaf  and  trumpet  weed, 
The  water-lily,  rush  and  reed, 

Wave  in  its  gentle  flow : 
While  thick'ning  groves  of  evergreen, 
The  fragrant  bay,  and  laurel  sheen, 
And  Juniper,  that  towers  between, 
Deeply  shade  the  limpid  stream, 

And  form  a  cool  retreat, 
Where  naiads  may  pursue  their  dance, 
In  airy  whirls,  recede,  advance, 
Secure  from  all  intrusive  glance, 

Around  their  mystic  seat. 
Beneath  the  close  embow'ring  shade, 
By  their  entangling  branches  made, 

In  the  translucent  wave, 
The  fairest  sylvan  goddess  may, 
Secluded  from  the  beams  of  day, 

Her  polished  members  lave. 
The  chaste  Diana  need  net  fear 
Th'  intrusion  of  an  Acteeon  here ; 

Beneath  this  verdant  canopy, 
Her  spotless  charms — her  image  pure— 
Were  as  protected,  as  secure, 

As  warrior  in  his  panoply. 

But  soon  this  wild  on  either  hand 
Changes  its  features  gay  and  bland': 
Around  it  spreads  a  rueful  scene, 
Of  barren  hill  and  pine  tree  green ; 
Majestic  pines,  whose  rugged  forms 
Have  stood  the  brunt  of  winter  storms; 
Whose  branches  proudly  wave  on  high, 
And  brave  each  blast  that  thunders  by  5 


MISCELLANEOUS  VOETUY.  233 

Whose  rugged  heads  they  still  uprear, 
Despite  the  rage  of  hundred  years, 
And  'scape  unscathed  the  flashing  levin, 
And  every  thunderbolt  of  heaven : 
Hilis  barren,  dreary,  bare  and  wild, 
Where  nature  bland  has  never  smiled; 
Where  in  her  sternest — surliest  mood, 
She  frowns  o'er  dingle,  hill  and  wood  : 
They're  steep  and  dingy,  bleak  and  bare  5 
The  wild  deer  finds  no  covert  there : 
They  seem  as  if  apart  they're  riven, 
By  some  convulsion  wildly  driven  : 
No  birds  are  there,  that  sweetly  sing, 
But  wasps  and  hornets  whet  their  sting, 
And  drowsy  bats  in  clusters  cling ; 
Incautious  footsteps  then  will  wake 
The  vengeful  anger  of  the  snake ; 
While  with  the  dismal  hoot  of  owl 
Mingles  the  grim  wolf's  nightly  howl. 

One  tender  flow'ret  yet  is  here, 
This  barren  wilderness  to  cheer ; 
Doomed,  like  some  beauteous  cloister'd  maid, 
Unseen — unknown,  to  bloom  and  fade : 

Her  charms  unseen — her  worth  unknown^ 
Unfelt  the  genial  influence 
Of  beauty,  virtue,  innocence — 

Except  by  monks  and  nuns  alone. 
Tis  cold  and  tender,  pure  and  pale, 
Like  beauty's  cheek  at  sorrow's  tale  :* 
So  pure,  so  tender,  so  serene, 
It  suits  but  ill  so  rude  a  scene. 
Amid  the  objects  sad  and  drear, 
That  spreads  around  it  far  and  near? 

Its  tender  beauties  glow, 
Like  fallen  hope  amid  the  ill, 
Destined  this  mortal  world  to  fill 

With  misery  and  woe. 
But  soon  the  winter's  howling  blast 
And  blighting  storm  will  gather  fast, 
And  round  the  waste  its  leaves  will  cast; 
Its  beauties  gone— its  season  past — 

*  Gaiour. 

X 


354,  RE  PUBUC  A  NT  COMPILER. 

Frail  being  of  a  day ! 
5Twill  leave  a  gloom  upon  the  wild, 
Where  erst  it  sweetly  bloomed  and  smiled, 
Such  as  would  shroud  terrestrial  things. 
Should  the  archangel's  radiant  wings 

Sweep  suns  and  stars  away. 

Rocks  too  in  wild  confusion  lie, 
That  once  perhaps  were  to  the  sky 

In  storms  sulphurious  driven ; 
By  belching  flames  right  upwards  hurl'd; 
The  ruins  of  a  tortured  world 

Against  the  breast  of  heaven. 
Their  forms  fantastic — sable  front- 
Show  -they  have  stood  some  fiery  brunt, 
Whose  smoke  in  eddying  volumes  rolled, 
In  sable  clouds  involv'd  each  pole, 
Blotted  the  sun's  effulgent  light, 
And  turn'd  the  day  to  gloomy  night. 
Here  in  some  dark  portentous  hour, 
Nature  has  felt  the  rending  power 
Of  the  tremendous  sons  of  fire ; 
Earthquake  dread — eruption  dire ; 
Convulsive  shock — sulphurious  storm; 
That  oft  her  fairest  scenes  deform. 
Of  these,  the  awful  signs  still  linger, 
Undimmed  by  time's  effacing  finger : 
They'll  linger  still  while  nature  lasts^- 
The  monuments  of  ruin  past. 
In  distant  times,  the  musing  sage 
Shall  view  this  scene  of  strife  and  rage, 

And  elemental  war; 
And  tell  in  words  with  wonder  fraught, 
The  awful  ruin  they  have  wrought 

On  wood  and  wold  and  scaur. 

Here  many  an  Indian, — nature's  child— 
Nursed  'mid  the  gloom  of  desart  wild, 
With  nerve  well  braced,  and  nimble  feek> 
Pursued  the  course  of  wild  deer  fleet; 
Or  chace  being  o'er,  sunk  to  repose, 
Kegardless  of  to-morrow's  woes. 
O  wilding  scene  !  what  warriors  bold 
Have  roamed  thy  wood,  thy  hill,  thy  wold ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRT, 

With  daring  soul  and  courage  high, 
And  dauntless  heart,  and  falcon  eye, 
Have  marked  where  hated  foemen  lay. 
Then  rushed  like  tiger  on  their  prey ; 
Or  prowled  like  wolf  in  fen  and  brake. 
And  stung  their  foe  like  venomed  snake. 
The  pale  moon  beams  that  o'er  thee  glance, 
Have  lighted  oft  their  midnight  dance: 
Those  rocks  that  round  them  scattered  He, 
Have  witnessed  oft  their  revel  high ; 
The  murdering  feast— the  piercing  yell, 
That  woke  the  echoes  of  the  dell; 
Frightened  the  grim  wolf  in  his  den, 
And  roused  the  dun  deer  in  his  glen ; 
Hushed  the  lonely  whip-poor-will ; 
The  raven  heard  it  and  was  still ; 
Silenced  the  owlets  mournful  cry, 
And  woke  the  eagle's  slumber  high  : 
The  rapture  fierce,  a  savage  knows, 
Exulting  o'er  his  vanquished  foes ; 
The  keen  resentment  flaming  high. 
That  swears  to  be  revenged  or  die ; 
Of  grief  and  woe  the  frantic  strain, 
For  brothers,  friends,  in  battle  slain; 
Or  all  in  rout  and  tumult  tost, 
For  adverse  fate  and  battle  lost. 
Here  did  the  victim  oft  expire, 
By  torments  slow  and  wasting  fire ; 
When  lit  was  fire  and  victim  bound, 
And  clenched  was  knife  to  give  the  wound. 
An     foes  insulting  crowded  round; 
His  eye,  while  they  keen  pangs  invent, 
And  on  inflicting  them  are  bent, 
Flashed  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
On  his  swart  brow  and  sallow  cheek, 
Glowed  sternly  contempt's  deepest  streak  j 
His  quiv'ring  lip  and  nostril  curled, 
Spoke  stern  defiance  on  the  world. 
Their  furious  rage — their  torments  dire; 
The  flaying  knife  and  scorching  fire ; 
All  their  inventions  to  subdue 
His  soul — to  sternest  virtue  true ; 
Compel  him  meanly  to  complain ; 
Extort  one  single  look  of  pain, 


255  REPUBLIC  \N  COMPILEK. 

Or  wring  one  solitar-  s.f;h, 
Passed  like  a  breeze  unheeded  by. 

Where  are  those  monarchs  of  the  wood, 

Whose  pride  was  war — whose  glory,  blood  5 

Those  heroes  fierce,  of  giant  might, 

Of  haughty  mien,  and  piercing  sight, 

Beneath  whose  look  the  coward  quailed, 

Whose  foot  the  tiger's  den  assailed, 

Whose  yell  as  up  the  chase  they  led 

Wolf,  wildcat,  fox  and  dun  deer  fled 5 

Of  daring  soul  and  callous  brow, 

Those  heroes  fierce — where  are  they  now ; 

They're  gone — as  all  things  earthly  must. 

And  mingled  with  their  parent  dust. 

The  wintry  blast  will  ruin  bring 

On  every  tender  flower  of  spring; 

Yet  spring;  returns — the  flower  will  rise ; 

But  death's  cold  skep  has  closed  their  eyes. 

High  towers  the  oak — but  winter's  blast 

Will  crush  its  mighty  form  at  last: 

High  towered  their  souls — but  time's  cold  hand 

Has  swept  these  heroes  from  the  land. 

A  few  rude  piles  of  shattered  stones 

Form  the  investment  of  their  bones : 

*Tis  all  that  love,  that  friendship  gave, 

From  blank  oblivion  to  save, 

The  glorious  actions  of  the  brave. 

Vain  monuments  of  human  pride ! 

Ye  tell  that  some  one  lived  and  died; 

But  who  he  was,  or  what  his  name> 

Is  blotted  from  the  rolls  of  fame. 

The  trophies  bright  he  may  have  wont 

And  all  his  deeds  of  glory  done, 

Have  now  no  place  beneath  the  sun, 

No  Peean's  lofty  strain  was  rung; 

No  harp  to  wildest  rapture  stru  ng ; 

No  grey -haired  minstrel  gave  his  name 

To  the  perennial  wing  of  fame ; 

But  all  his  deeds  of  glory  bright 

Are  shrouded  in  eternal  night. 

Like  tints  that  tinged  an  evening  scene? 

Or  flower  that  bloomed  in  copsewood  green; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  257 

Like  northern  blast  that  whistled  by, 
Or  stars  that  blazed  athwart  the  sky, 
They've  had  their  course— they've  had  their  day. 
And  passed  forevermore  away. 


Village  Greatness. 

In  every  country  village  where 

Ten  chimney  smokes  perfume  the  air. 

Contiguous  to  a  steeple  ; 
Great  gentle  folks  are  found  a  score, 
Who  can't  associate  any  more, 

With  common  "  country  people." 

Jack  Fallow,  born  among  the  woods, 
From  rolling  logs,  now  roils  in  goods, 

Enough  a  while  to  dash  on — 
Tells  negro  stories,  smokes  segars, 
Talks  politics,  decides  on  wars, 

Brinks  rum  and  lives  in  fashion. 

Tim  Oxgad,  lately  from  the  plough, 
A  polish'd  gentleman  is  now, 

And  talks  of  country  fellows, 
But  ask  the  fop  what  oooks  he's  read, 
You'll  find  the  brain  pan  of  his  head, 

As  empty  as  a  bellows. 

Miss  Faddle  lately  from  the  wheel, 
Begins  quite  lady  like  to  feel, 
And  talks  affectedly  genteel, 

And  sings  some  tasty  songs  too  : 
But  my  veracity  impeach, 
If  she  can  tell  what  part  of  speech 

Gentility  belongs  to. 

Without  one  speech  of  wit  refin'd 
Without  one  beauty  of  the  mind. 

Genius  or  education ; 
Or  family  or  fame  to  boast, 
To  see  such  gentry  rule  the  toast. 

Turns  patience  to  vexation. 


REPUBLICAN  COMPILER, 

Amidst  the  rubbish  of  the  earth, 
Should  real  genius,  mental  worth, 

The  aid  of  science  lend  you  ; 
You  might  as  well  the  stye  refine; 
Or  cast  your  pearls  before  the  swine. 

They'd  only  turn  and  rend  you. 


Ode  for  the  New  Fear— 1817. 

L  1. 

WITH  pinions  yet  uritir'd  for  flight, 
Time  wildly  speeds  adown  the  storm  of  years, 
And  still  his  banner  dark  uprears 

Through  joy's  ecstatic  reign,  and  sorrow^s  night. 
Empires  may  fall,  and  states  decay, 
Earth's  proudest  glories  fade  away, 
But  time  holds  on  his  unmolested" course, 
Sweeping  through  the  tempests  hoarse ; 
"With  unrelenting  hand,  destroying  wide 
The  pomp  and  boast  of  human  pride, 
And  dooming  to  one  common  grave, 
The  great  in  soul,  the  fair,  the  virtuous  and  the  brave! 

I.  2. 

Youth  hails  him  as  he  hastens  on, 
And  chides  his  tedious  flight  and  long  delay  ; 
Age  mourns  the  evening  of  the  day, 

When  all  its  former  joys  shall  soon  be  gone. 
And  he,  the  dark  destroyer,  flings 
Upon  the  v/inds  his  rapid  wings, 
Unmark'd,  so  sudden  and  so  swift,  his  flight? 
By  the  dim  and  dizzy  sight; 
Till  o'er  the  closing  drama,  death  enfold 
His  misty  curtain,  d,rear  and  cold, 
And  youth's  fond  dream,  and  age's  sigh, 
At  once  entomb'd  and  lost,  in  lonely  silence  lie  I 

1.  3. 

There  in  common  rest  shall  sleep 
Hearts  that  joy.  and  eyes  that  weep; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY,         .  Q& 

,  0 

Beauty's  all  entrancing  light        ,    / 
Shall  oe  forever  quench'd  in  night?^- 

In  slumber  mild,  but  deep! 
And  there  shall  rest  the  child  of  glory. 
Valor's  fire,  and  wisd onv hoary ; 
There  the  bard's  enraptur'd  pinion  > 

Stills  its  plumes  Yorever  more, 
Doom'd  no  more  to  dare  dominion 

On  fond  fancy's  pictur'd  shore. 
While  sadly  scatter 'd  round,  in  many  a  heap, 

Proud  temples  own  the  awful  march  of  time, 
Crumbling  in  melancholy  silence  deep, 

On  every  shore,  in  every  age  and  clime; 
In  speechless  grandeur,  their  dark  ruins  lie, 
Memorials  sad  and  stern  of  his  dominion  high; 

II.  1. 

And  still  doth  year  succeed  to  year, 
And  still  Time's  murmur  moans  along  the  blast £-~ 
Do  we  regard  him  till  o'erpast  ? 

Do  we  his  hasty  voice  of  warning  hear  ? 
We  pluck  the  transient  flowers  of  earth. 
Forgetting  those  of  purer  birth, 
feegardless  of  the  heritage  above, 
Lost  to  purity  and  love  ! 

Oh  man !  vain  man !  why  wilt  thott  weave  thy  doom  $ 
Why  wilt  thou  hurry  to  the  tomb, 
And  madly  rush,  and  wildly  dare 
The  darkest  frowns  of  death,  the  terrors  of  despair? 

II.  2. 

Then  weave  the  melancholy  strain ; 
Another  year  to  join  the  past  has  flown; 
Hark  to  its  sad  and  passing  moan, 

Ere  yet  it  joins  the  past  departing  train!" 
It  tells  of  wildly  wasted  hours, 
Of  sorrows  pale  and  wither'd  flowers, 
Perchance  of  blasted  hopes  and  broken  peace? 
Shifting  scenes  of  earthly  bliss, 
Of  disappointment  chill,  when,  heaven  forgot, 
Earth  seem'd  a  sad  aad  dreary  spot, 
And  the  vile  heart  refused  the  ray 
Of  hope  and  comfort  sweet,  from  heavVs  unfailing  day, 


260-  REPUBLICAN  COMPILER. 

II.  3. 

Yet  in  measures  soft  and  sweet, 

Hark !  the  lyre's  fond  accents  greet 
Him  that  comes  in  new-born  bloom. 
And  spreads  fresh  morning  o'er  the  gloom. 

With  swift  advancing  feet. 
Gay  hope  his  hasty  step  is  hailing, 
Loud  the  song  of  pleasure  swelling 5 
When  his  lovely  form  ascending, 

Sparkles  on  the  ravish 'd  gaze, 
Youth  and  beauty  gently  blending 

In  a  burst  of  dazzling  rays ! 
Bright  opes  the  morn,  and  fair  the  prospect  seems, 

Hope  smiles  in  triumph,  o'er  the  gilded  reign;— 
Evening  perhaps  a<>;ain  may  chase  her  dreams, 

And  teach  fond  man  that  all  of  earth  is  vain; 
Another  year  may  roll  its  ebbing  tide, 
And  leave  him  still  the  mock  of  passion  and  of  pride? 

III.  1. 

"Religion,  with  a  steady  eye, 
Alone  can  mark  the  sweeping  flood  of  years; 
She  wipes  away  the  falling  tears, 

And  fixes  every  hope  upon  the  sky; 
And  hails  each  year  that  rolls  away. 
Since  nearer  to  th'  eternal  day, 
She  treads  the  mazes  of  this  mortal  life ; 
There*  when  years  have  ceas'd  their  strife, 
To  live  in  long  communion  with  the  blest, 
In  bowers  of  happiness  and  rest, 
And  join  the  chorus  of  the  song 
That  heav'n,  through  all  its  realms,  forever  shall  prolong 

III.  2. 

And  oh!  throughout  the  wide  spread  world, 
May  this  new  year  extend  IMMANUEL'S  reign  3 
On  every  shore  and  every  plain, 

In  triumph  be  his  banner  bright  unfurl'd! 
The  dread,  disastrous  form  of  war, 
Has  diinm'd  awhile  its  baleful  star, 
And  peace  delightful  spreads  her  sceptre  gay5 
O'er  the  ocean's  trackless  way, 
A<nd  o'er  the  barren  sand  and  howling  waste? 
The  servants  of  the  Saviour  haste, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY. 

To  pour  the  beams  of  gospel  light 

O'er  horror's  darkest  den,  and  superstitions  night. 

III.  3. 

Hail  thee,  then,  thou  new-born  year. 

Bursting  in  thy  youug  career ! 
May'st  thou  bring  resplendent  flowers, 
To  bless  the  tide  of  fleeting  hours, 

With  heav'n  and  glory  near ! 
And  oh  !  from  earth,  if  death  us  sever, 
Ere  thou  wing'st  thy  flight  forever, 
May  our  souls  in  rapture  soaring, 

Claim  and  find  a  blest  abode, 
Mid  unnumber'd  crowds  adoring 

At  the  awful  throne  of  GOD  : 
Oh!  be  thou  glorious  in  the  march  of  years, 

Thy  journey  strew'd  with  softest  roses  sweet  $ 
And  mid  the  music  of  revolving  spheres, 

May  thy  Hosanna  heav'n's  blue  concave  meet; 
To  sing  the  triumphs  of  redeeming  love, 
And  mount  on  wing  sublime,  to  Zion's  hill  above. 
BRISTOL,  (R.  I.)  JAN.  1,  1817. 


O  curas  homnum  I  0  quantum  est  in  rebus  inane  .' 

PER.    SAT. 

OH  !  'twas  a  parting — serene — sublime  and  bright^ 

As  when  the  sun  sinks  on  the  tearful  sight 

In  floating  clouds  of  blue  and  liquid  gold  I— • 

She  died  F  what  recks  it  now — if  told 

Her  virtues — loveliness  and  grace  ? 

The  bright  expressions  of  the  form  and  face  ? 

The  open  spirit — and  the  pride  of  truth  ? 

The  hopes  of  pleasure  and  the  joys  of  youth  P 

She  died! — and  these  are  past  and  gone — 

Why  weep  then — o'er  the  unforgotton  one 

Who  wakes  no  more  — to  grieve  her  given  birth, 

And  the  cold  changes  of  a  wayward  earth! 

The  last  «  good  night5'  fell  from  her  dying  tongue— 

We  gazed — and  o'er  the  feeble  sufferer  weeping  hung— « 

She  pass'd — and  yet  we  gaz'd  and  wept — 

We  could  not  think  her  dead— but  that  she  slept. 


262  REPUBLICAN  CGMPfLfeR. 

The  bloom  nad  faded  from  her  cheek  so  fa*r« 

And  the'hot  tears  she  shed  had  frozen  there— 

The  face  was  yellow — as  the  autumn  leaf — 

The  dark  eye  glazed  and  closed — and  closed  in  grief. 

It  would  have  seemed — had  not  the  parting  smile 

Play'd  round  the  mouth — denying  it  the  while— 

Her  fingers  closely  clasp'd — as  though  in  prayer 

The  mind  had  been — but  not  the  clasping  of  despair — > 

Oh  !  'twas  a  sight — but  all  have  seen  the  sight, 

That  sight  of  sorrow  and  of  strange  delight! 

Ah!  what  is  life? — embrace  a  vision  cloud — 

Light  the  red  torch,  and  place  it  on  a  shroud. 

Yes !  there  was  something  in  that  farewell  hour 

Which  shew'd  the  pride  of  mind — its  hope  and  power, 

9Twas  not  the  dreadful  and  uncertain  chill, 

The  trembling  fear  that  flutters  and  is  still, 

The  fear  that  tells  the  soul  it  soon  must  cease 

(A  tale  of  fear  and  doubt,  but  none  of  peace) 

To  be — and  mingle  with  the  wakeless  dead, 

In  the  dark  slumbers  of  a  darker  bed. 

Oh  no !  her's  was  the  hope  and  beam  of  heaven 

Redeeming  grace  and  love  and  sins  forgiven  : 

Of  better  worlds  than  this,  unchanging,  fair, 

Where  the  glad  spirit  floats  on  wings  of  air. 

Sweeping  tlie  harp  of  God  in  softest  tone, 

In  praise  of  Him  who  sits  upon  the  throne. 


Jl  Reflection. 

I'VE  seen  the  dark  ship  proudly  braving, 
With  high  sails  set — and  streamers  waving, 

The  tempest  roar  and  battle  pride  : — 
I've  seen  those  floating  streamers  shrinking — 
The  high  sail  rent — the  proud  ship  sinking — 

Beneath  the  ocean  tide  ; — 
And  heard  the  seaman  farewell  sighing— 
His  body  on  the  dark  sea  lying — 

His  death  prayer  to  the  wind ! 
But  sadder  sight  the  eye  can  know, 
Than  proud  bark  lost — and  seaman's  wo—- 
Or battle  fire  and  tempest  cloud — 
Or  prey  birds  shriek  and  oceans  shroud— 

The  shipwreck  of  the  Mind. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POETRY.  M$ 

The  author  of  the  fallowing  beautiful,  feeling  and  pious  production,  wm 
Mr.  FRANCIS  COPE,  a  young  gentleman  of  Philadelphia,  who,  like 
our  lamented  Biakely,  has  been  lately  snatched,  by  the  greedy  waters. 
from  the  hopes  of  his  friends,  and  the  pursuit  of  virtuous  fame.  He 
was  drowned  at  sea,  in  his  20th  year.  Many  fine  specimens  of  earlf 
genius  are  in  the  possession  of  his  friends — but  the  following  is  most  re- 
markable as  being  the  production  of  a  young  won,  and  as  breathing 
not  only  the  fervent  spirit  of  real  poetry  but  of  true  religion.  The 
foss  of  such  a  youth  is  a  national  calamity.  STAB, 

When  adverse  winds  right  keenly  blow; 
When  stern  affliction's  grasp  we  know ; 
Her  torch  when  persecution  whirls ; 
When  Rnvy  lifts  her  snaky  curls  ; 

Thrice  happy  he  whose  soul  resign'd, 
Unmov'd  can  see  the  torrent  run ; 
Can  say,  his  eye  to  Heaven  inclined, 
"Thy  will  be  done." 

O  life,  thy  roses  thorns  unfold ; 
O  death,  thy  grasp  is  fearful  cold, 
With  riches  come  unnumbered  cares. 
With  poverty  ten  thousand  snares. 

Then  where  can  happiness  be  found  r 
Nor  in  the  cot,  nor  purple  throne, 
Herein  doth  happiness  abound, 
"  Thy  will  be  done." 

When  blasting  winds  blow  cold  and  bleak. 

With  longing  eye  and  sunken  cheek, 

When  haggard  famine  stalks  around  ; 

When  war  triumphant  stains  the  ground  ; 
When  the  sad  mother  beats  her  breast, 
To  see  her  babe's  last  sigh  is  drawn  5 
O  what  can  sooth  her  soul  to  rest  ? 
"  Thy  will  be  done." 

5Tis  this  can  still  the  adverse  gale, 
5Tis  this  can  bid  wan  famine  hail, 
'Tis  this  can  soften  war's  alarms, 
?Tis  this  oppression's  rage  disarms, 

This  plucks  the  thistle  froiii  our  road 

When  life's  deluding  joys  are  go 
>Tis  this  will  raise  the  soul  to  God, 
«  Thy  will  be  done." 


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DtG  1U  1946 

LIBRARY  USE 

ceo      K    ^  9/ 

i      JUL1  11960 

into      Q     •  -» 

REC'O  Ufc* 

JUL  11  1950 

FEB    23  19 

48 

Q,  alPPj. 



unov'iiL'a  J 

REC'C  LD 

J1IW   0  Q    ]Cii,Q 

ptm  ^  u  1993 

l5Je'60EsI 

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JUN  J     '"JbO 

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